


Stardust Among Sand

by cosmicwoosan, useumssi



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Beach, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Blowjobs, Breaking & Entering, Clubbing, Coming of Age, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Graffiti, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lingerie, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Muteness, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Car Accident, Past Family Death, Past Violence, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Riding, Self-Esteem Issues, Skinny Dipping, Smut, Summer Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, Toxic Masculinity, mentions of bullying, mentions of injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 103,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwoosan/pseuds/cosmicwoosan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/useumssi/pseuds/useumssi
Summary: Summer.It is a time for change. To become more, to discover beauty in things that never looked beautiful, and heal from scars both old and new. A time for kissing atop Ferris wheels, breaking into a rich dude's house to get high, and having sex under neon lights. To let the good times roll.One summer is all it takes to change five lives and upend all that they believed to be true about themselves and their worlds. Through the pain of the past, pleasure of the present, and fear of the future, five men come together, grow with one another, and leave as something more than what they once were.
Relationships: Choi San/Jeong Yunho, Choi San/Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Jung Wooyoung/Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi
Comments: 87
Kudos: 282





	1. Cerulean Seas and Silver Moonbeams

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the '99 line beach au nobody asked for but we all need
> 
> Athena here! I am so happy that I got to work with Shan on this fic. She is one of my favorite atiny authors and working with her has been such an honor. We have been working on this project for a long time and we are super excited to share it with you all. We hope that you love this fic as much as we enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Hello everyone! I'm Shan, and thank you to everyone who clicked on this fic that Athena and I have been working on for the past couple of months! I'm so happy and honoured to be working with such a wonderful author like Athena; she's so talented, and writing this story with her has been absolutely magical. We hope you all love it as much as we do!
> 
> Just to give a heads up, there are some triggering topics later on in the fic. Tags will be updated as the chapters are posted and warnings will be provided at the beginning of each chapter. However, as a beginning warning, there will be mentions/descriptions of past self-harm and family death, as well as self-esteem/toxic masculinity issues in future chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s your name?” 
> 
> Mingi reaches for his notebook, sand cascading from between the pages. He can barely uncap the marker, fingers still weak. His scrawl is shaky, but he manages to spell out ‘M-I-N-G-I'
> 
> “Mingi?” the deep voice rumbles. “My name is Yunho.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains a panic attack scene and shy little yeosang

Wooyoung doesn’t know when the air changed from the heavy smog of the city to the clean, salty tang of the ocean, but after driving for four and a half hours, the shift in atmosphere and air quality is more than welcome. Windows rolled down, the ocean breeze floods the car, tussling their hair and cooling them off after an unpleasantly stuffy drive (curse the car’s dysfunctional air conditioning). Mingi has his neon-rimmed sunglasses on, head sticking out the window as Wooyoung cruises down the seemingly barren strip of beaches.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” Wooyoung says even though Mingi hasn’t expressed a single ounce of worry the entire trip.

Mingi just scoffs in response. Thankfully, Wooyoung can’t see him roll his eyes behind the garish blue-tinted lenses.

When Wooyoung reaches a roundabout, the scenery changes drastically, from lonely to extraordinary as lush plant life lines the road’s curve. A single right turn, and Mingi and Wooyoung are met with an increasing amount of palm trees and shrubs and tall, vibrant flowers, telltale signs of their destination.

“You excited?” Wooyoung asks, briefly turning towards his friend to catch him nod. “Good.”

A quick puff of air breaches Mingi’s nose in what would be a laugh. 

The corners of Wooyoung’s lips tug up in endearment at the sound. The towering palm trees are a stark contrast to the clusters of buildings scattered through their busy hometown. Here the sky shines through the jostling fronds, lighting their path with an ever-changing mosaic of sunbeams.

Wooyoung breathes in deep as the breeze rushes in through his open window, savoring the first few breaths of freedom. It’s laced with sweet flowers and earthy musk, the salt of the ocean stinging his nose ever so slightly. By his side, he hears Mingi do the same, a soft, barely-present sigh floating from the boy’s lips with every exhale. 

_A road to nowhere_ , Wooyoung thinks. _Or_ _everywhere_.

The lush greenery swells on either side of their tiny car as Wooyoung navigates the lone road, great waves of fragrant flowers and swaying trees guiding them to their destination. Eventually, the waves crash down around them, giving way to small, berry-heavy bushes that lap against the dark concrete. 

Then come the buildings. Nothing here is larger than three stories, and it feels infinitely less claustrophobic than the big city. Quaint shops and bustling restaurants line the main strip in town, neon signs flashing in the windows. Beachgoers mill about in nothing but their swimsuits, traveling in clusters and laden with beach bags, trailing sand behind them. 

Further down the street, in the distance, Wooyoung can see the glinting flashes of blue. Their car rolls through the busy town slowly, wary of pedestrians, but Wooyoung’s foot itches on the gas pedal, wanting nothing more than to floor it and fly to the beckoning ocean. 

The town eventually melts into the residential area, and Wooyoung’s GPS guides them to their little beach house. It’s wonderfully close to the beach, right on the cusp of where grass turns to sand, where one world shifts to another. 

Gravel crunches under worn tires as Wooyoung pulls up to their little beach house. Their home for the rest of the summer.

It’s a tiny thing, elevated on a platform with a set of steep stairs leading to the front door. The blue of the exterior is a bright spot among the sun-washed pastels of the neighboring houses. Mingi hops out of the car the instant the engine falls silent, slamming the door behind him and taking the stairs up, two at a time. It should be graceful, considering Mingi’s height, but the long lines of his body and his gangly limbs are vaguely reminiscent of a stick insect climbing a particularly difficult branch.

He hears the keys jangle as Mingi digs them up from the depths of the mailbox, right where the owners said they would be. The lock opens with a _snick_ and Mingi is gone, leaving Wooyoung standing alone in the driveway, huffing out a chuckle as he pulls their bags from the trunk.

The inside is clean and cozy, the cloying smell of lemon-scented cleaner still clinging to the hardwood surfaces. Wooyoung can hear Mingi prattling about on the second floor, footfalls heavy as he explores, leaving Wooyoung to settle their suitcases by himself.

“Thanks for the help,” he calls out, feigning annoyance. Mingi falls silent for a moment before Wooyoung hears a thundering crash and the telltale squeak of bedsprings. 

_Fantastic_.

Wooyoung kicks off his sneakers, lining them up next to Mingi’s overturned ones, and promptly sinks into the plush cushions of the couch in their homey living room. A bone-deep ache settles over his body, neck stiff from driving so long without a break. 

The sound of waves crashing against the shore is like real-time ASMR, and Wooyoung begins drifting off in a matter of moments, carried gently to dreamland on white water and gleaming seashells. 

He doesn’t know how long his mind floats in the gentle, dark vacuum of half-sleep; it could be two minutes or two hours. But all the same, he’s jolted awake by Mingi crashing down the stairs like a baby giraffe, long legs nearly tangling with each other in his haste. 

The smile that splits Mingi’s face is brilliant, radiating a perfect joy that Wooyoung hadn’t seen on his friend in ages. The neon-rimmed sunglasses are perched on his forehead, somehow defying gravity as Mingi bounces on the balls of his feet and points through the kitchen and to the glass sliding doors on the opposite end of the house. 

Beyond it is an expanse of fine sand, trampled by the masses that traverse it daily. It gathers in tiny mountains and crumbling castles. 

Past that is the cerulean sea. It waves hello before it crashes against the shore, only to draw back and try again, desperate for Wooyoung to come and dip his toes in. 

It’s persuasive, the sea. 

With a heavy sigh, Wooyoung pushes to his feet, following Mingi through the door, over the deck, down the stairs, and out to the long stretch of beach. His shoes lay forgotten by the front door, but Wooyoung can hardly bring himself to care. The almost-white grains are so fine they slip between his toes, silken. Now _this_ is sand he wouldn’t mind being buried neck-deep in. 

A great _splash_ sounds, and Wooyoung looks up to see Mingi emerge from the water, soaked head to toe. His smile is somehow bigger than before. 

Wooyoung smiles back, a giggle bubbling in his throat, only to get caught and turn into a lump of coal. 

_Only a few more months_. 

Only a few more months until he and Mingi have to part ways. He’ll be a plane ride away from his friend, and he’d never been more than a door down from Mingi for the past ten years. 

The lump of coal settles deep in his belly now, sparking to life and burning low. It simmers when he thinks about the few short weeks until the real world will come calling, but seeing Mingi beam as he’s tossed around by playful swells makes the warmth spread from the base of his belly to his fingertips. It even crawls up his neck and dusts the apples of his cheeks with a rose gold flush. 

Anticipation. Excitement. Dread.

It mixes in a cacophony of raucous noise in his chest, but he tamps it down and stores it away. 

“Mingi!” Wooyoung calls over the hungry cries of seagulls, waving his hands to get his attention.

His friend totters over to him, walking like a drunkard when the sand gives way beneath his feet. 

“Wanna grab dinner?” he asks.

Wooyoung gets a nod so enthusiastic that neon frames come flying at his face. Before he can get another word out, Mingi is clambering up the stairs, surely staining the freshly cleaned floors with salty drops. 

“Always leaving me in the dust,” Wooyoung shouts after him. 

Mingi’s face pops up from behind one of the windows facing the beach, the sweet pout on his face all the apology Wooyoung needs. 

Wooyoung grins back and Mingi mirrors him. 

They get dressed quickly, eager to leave.

After all, the town is waiting for them. 

☼

They splurge on dinner.

Wooyoung blames his mother. “You’ve got a lot saved up from working, don’t you? We’ll give you some money too. We want you to treat yourselves this summer; you two deserve it.” And deserve it, they sure fucking do. Wooyoung didn’t work a part time job, sit through ten-hour school days only to work a few hours after school and on weekends, cram for exams while battling piles of classwork, and spend the only free time he had making sure his head was screwed on straight, for _nothing._

And Mingi, well.

Mingi works hard. Wooyoung sees it every day. He may not work out in the public, but he’s working. He’s trying.

So Wooyoung tells Mingi to order whatever he wants. They’re outside, the restaurant’s outdoor seating area offering a splendid oceanic view from right beside the piers. It must be where they catch their fish, Wooyoung thinks.

Mingi’s face lights up instantaneously once their giant seafood fountain is placed in front of them. Quite literally in the shape of a miniature fountain, each layer houses an assortment of shellfish and crustaceans upon beds of crushed ice. Wooyoung’s mouth waters at the aroma of lemon and sea, eyes agape at the grand prize.

“Well?” Wooyoung motions at the food. “You first.”

Mingi doesn’t even hesitate, attacking the top layer of jumbo shrimps.

They work their way down the seafood fountain until there’s nothing but hollow shells and peels left on their plates, their glasses empty, and even then, Mingi insists that they get dessert.

“I saw an ice cream place on the way here, if you wanna check that out,” Wooyoung suggests, to which Mingi gives another enthusiastic nod.

It’s a cute little shop, air conditioning on full blast as soon as they step through the door and the little bell chimes above them. Mingi is already beelining towards the selection, browsing his options attentively, brows furrowed. And of course, Wooyoung tells him to get whatever he wants, and _of course_ , Mingi goes all out and orders a sundae with all the fixings, until the poor mountain of whipped cream droops, but he laps it up anyway.

The sun has since disappeared, leaving the sky a darkening periwinkle. The heat of day has also begun to fade, replaced by the winds of dusk and high tide, even sending a shiver down Wooyoung’s spine. They walk side by side aimlessly, with no particular destination in mind but not enough energy to muster one.

Well, at least for Wooyoung. He wants to go home and conk out, but with Mingi’s giant hot fudge sundae probably making its sugary rounds through his body, Mingi would probably want to explore a lot more.

 _Well, then, explore by yourself_ , Wooyoung thinks almost spitefully, but he drowns the thought as soon as it rises.

Once the sundae is no more, Mingi snatches the water bottle from Wooyoung’s backpack, taking a gulp and recapping it. He opens the very back pocket, shoves the bottle in, exchanging it for his notebook and the marker snug in its metal spiral.

Flipping the notebook open to a blank page and uncapping the marker with his teeth, Mingi pauses in the middle of the sidewalk and writes:

_‘Thank you for dinner! :)’_

“And dessert,” Wooyoung quips, smirking, to which Mingi just rolls his eyes and scribbles _‘and dessert’_ next to the smiley face. “Come on, then. Let’s go home, I’m tired.”

Mingi’s response is the complete opposite of the little smiley face he drew. Flipping to another page, he writes in big, bold black letters:

_‘NO I WANT TO EXPLORE!!!’_

And he pouts, comically so. Under different circumstances, perhaps Wooyoung would concede, but the aches are reaching intolerable and his eyelids are already drooping despite the few remaining hints of light left in the sky. He shakes his head. “Mingi, I drove here, in case you forgot. And I can drive back without you.”

An empty threat. Wooyoung knows it, maybe Mingi knows it too, but he simply sucks in his bottom lip and writes again.

 _‘Fine.’_ Underlined twice.

Wooyoung wasn’t expecting Mingi to be serious until he caps the marker and turns on his heels. “Hey, Mingi!” Wooyoung manages to snag Mingi by the shoulder, but the taller just shrugs it off, falling into a heavy stride away from his best friend.

Wooyoung can only watch, flabbergasted, as Mingi storms away. Indignance flares up inside him, adrenaline spiking in his blood. _What an idiot_ , he thinks, rolling his eyes unbeknownst to Mingi as he turns in the other direction.

He reminds himself, however, that Mingi is an adult. He can handle himself.

So Wooyoung fishes his phone out from his pocket and holds down the button, silencing it from any further interaction.

He just wants to sleep.

☼

Wooyoung’s feet finally decide to give up on him when he reaches the edge of a pier. He doesn’t know how long he’s walked for, but as soon as his butt hits the cold black metal of the bench, his head falls back and his eyes slip shut. A weary sigh escapes him as he lets his weight sink back into the bench, imagining himself becoming one with it.

As waves wash upon the stone piers, sending soothing ambience straight into Wooyoung’s ears, he finds himself drifting. On the cusp of sleep, breathing evening out, limbs lax and limp, he—

“Long night, huh?”

There’s a soft _clang_ , like metal touching metal, and Wooyoung feels the bench shift under him. The salty ocean air is met with something almost sordid—the pungent odor of cigarette smoke. But there’s something else there, perhaps to cut the stench, something along the lines of tangy or musky. Probably some fancy schmancy cologne. Wooyoung’s nose scrunches at the sudden assault on his senses.

 _Must be some rich asshole_ , Wooyoung figures, lifting his head.

Except when he opens his eyes and turns to his right, he’s met with the exact opposite.

There’s no lavish suit or designer shoes, no slicked-back hair shiny with gel or expensive timepieces. Instead, there’s a leather jacket and chains, studded earrings and bulky boots, adorning a person that most people would call a “punk.” The man is eyeing Wooyoung with a smirk, two rings jutting out from either side of his bottom lip.

“Uh… yeah,” Wooyoung responds, the fog in his brain clogging his mouth.

“Figured. You’re about ready to pass out, huh?”

“Was going to, ‘til you came along.”

The stranger chuckles. “You got some snark in you.”

“An infinite amount.”

“I like that.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “Now, I’ve slept on a fair share of benches in my day,” the stranger continues, spreading his arms out across the back of the bench, “and let me tell you, it’s not exactly comfortable. So I suggest you get back to where you actually have, y’know, something plush you can sleep on.”

“You’ve known me for thirty seconds and you’re already trying to get rid of me? I’m offended,” Wooyoung says, amusement present in his tone. “And what do you mean ‘in my day?’ You can’t be that much older than me.”

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t slept on benches.” The stranger laughs as he extends his reach to Wooyoung, glancing down at his hand. “San.”

_San._

“Wooyoung.”

San’s hand is about as rough as his exterior, worn and cracked, his grip firm and steady. Wooyoung looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and thinks that maybe it isn’t all that surprising that he’s slept on benches before.

In fact, Wooyoung thinks that he’s probably gotten up to a lot more than just sleeping on benches.

“You a local?” San asks.

“Hell no,” Wooyoung answers. “Are you?”

“Do I look like one?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “What’s a local supposed to look like?”

San exhales, the corners of his mouth lifted into his ever-present smirk. “I like your answers.”

“Okay.” Wooyoung laughs, because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do.

They turn away from each other and sit there in salty silence. Two lamp posts on either side of them illuminate the way, and when Wooyoung turns to his left, he’s reminded of the reason he’s here in the first place. _That moron_ , Wooyoung thinks.

“So… what exactly are you doing here?” San asks.

Wooyoung turns to look at him. San, on the other hand, is gazing straight ahead, one leg bent over the other, arms still spread out. “My friend ditched me.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a friend,” San mumbles, shrugging.

“Well, we kind of ditched each other,” Wooyoung elaborates. “I’m dead tired, he’s on a sugar high. He’s super excited about our trip, and, well, I guess I am too, but I just don’t have the energy to be, you know? So he got all annoyed with me because I wanted to go home, stormed off, and now I’m here.”

“I’m guessing you drove.”

“Your guess is correct.”

San sighs. “At least you didn’t completely ditch him. If I were your friend and I found out you drove away without me, I’d find your ass and drop kick you to the ground.”

Wooyoung glances down at San’s boots, elevated platforms with soles that would probably leave a very distinct print if he were to actually drop kick him to the ground. “Yeah, I don’t doubt it,” Wooyoung says. He looks to his left again. The light in the sky will be completely gone soon. “I should… probably try to find him.”

“Tell him I say hi and that I think the both of you should have a nice long chat about this little thing called ‘compromise,’” San says with that same smirk that never left.

“No promises.”

Perhaps it was the few minutes of rest. Perhaps it was the oddly pleasant and not pleasant scent of ocean and smoke and citrus all in one. Perhaps it was the guilt, or the worry, or the feeling of dread lingering over Wooyoung’s head like a storm cloud, but he finds himself energized now more than ever as he strides down the sidewalk, back in the direction of town.

He tries Mingi’s cell phone. With no indication that Mingi tried to reach him, more panic settles into his bones, sending painful shockwaves up his legs with each step against the concrete. He sends a text, a simple _where are u?_ , hoping that Mingi responds. He’s usually good at responding in a matter of seconds.

In five minutes, there’s nothing.

Wooyoung reaches the ice cream shop. Its sign has been flipped closed, the lights are off, and Mingi is out of sight.

But he is certainly not out of mind.

☼

Mingi surprises himself when he turns and walks away from Wooyoung. His notebook is clutched to his chest, an anchor in the turning tide. 

He hasn’t a clue why he reacted so strongly to Wooyoung’s simple request. The town nor the beach nor its million hidden treasures would disappear overnight. Perhaps it was the chocolate drizzle atop his sundae. Some might call a stiff drink liquid courage, but for Mingi, it was chocolate, liquid or otherwise.

His footfalls are heavy, echoing in the emptying street as he forces one foot in front of the other, too proud to turn around and scuttle back to Wooyoung with his tail between his legs. But still he strains his hearing, listening for Wooyoung’s soft, graceful canter behind him.

It never comes. 

When Mingi turns around, he expects to see Wooyoung standing there, watching after him, willing him to turn back. Instead, he’s faced with empty space. Space where Wooyoung should be, but isn’t. 

It punches a breath from Mingi’s chest before he sucks it back in, disappointed and _angry_.

Of all things, he never expected Wooyoung to leave him, to carry through his threat. 

Now his steps are light and determined, carrying him swiftly back to the main road, the thought of Wooyoung pressed to the back of his mind. 

The energy of the town is winding down, the locals and visitors driving away in cars and on motorbikes, a parade of them leaving in a flourish of bright yellow light and jubilant car horns. Mingi even sees a couple on a bicycle, the girl seated behind her boyfriend as if she were riding sidesaddle, tiny arms wrapped tightly around his waist. 

He walks by a familiar car—their car. And Wooyoung is still nowhere to be seen. Mingi turns his nose up at the lump of steel and aluminum, continuing his journey to god-knows-where. 

The sky begins to change, the sun moving beneath the blanket of the horizon to make way for the moon. It happens slowly, and Mingi watches it in wonder.

Blue melts into oranges and pinks and purples before fading into inky indigo. He could never find a view like this in the city, he thinks. Not even close. 

Mingi doesn’t realize how far he’s walked until pavement turns to sand, and he’s right there, ready to greet the moon as she comes into view. It’s full and bright, and it lights his path even better than the sun.

So Mingi follows the silvery moonbeams, tugging off his sandals and allowing the cool, salt water to run over his toes as the full moon pushes and pulls the waves in a cosmic feat Mingi could never begin to wrap his head around. 

He walks mindlessly, aimlessly, his only companions the rustle of palm leaves in the night breeze and the quiet rush of water over sand. He walks, that is, until he can’t anymore. 

**PRIVATE PROPERTY** , the sign reads. The big, bolded letters glare at him with venom and he shrinks away. **NO TRESPASSERS**.

So this is where his journey will end. Mingi backs away as though the sign will jump from where it’s staked into the ground and chase him away itself. 

When he turns around, however, he finds he cannot take even a single step. The moon is gone, hidden away by a stray cloud. His path is dark, and not even the blinking lights of the town are visible in the distance. The sounds that once followed him, reassured him, now sound sinister, promising hidden danger should he dare venture into the black of night by himself. 

Mingi had never been afraid of much as a child. All children had some sort of fear they held close to their hearts: sharks, clowns, the boogeyman. Those are inconsequential in comparison to the creeping danger of the dark. 

It was the quiet black, that sense of being able to hear, and smell, and feel, but not being able to _see_ , that Mingi fears. It holds the infinite unknown, an unidentifiable monster that Mingi has no intentions of crossing.

But now he’s faced with no choice. The moonbeams have abandoned him. His phone, he checks, is dead. 

Dread floods him, roiling in his belly. He feels nauseous and weak, the delicious meal and sweet dessert that Wooyoung had treated him to threatening to make a reappearance. 

Mingi’s heart is hammering in his ears, drowning out everything else. 

Cold sweats and shaking hands. 

_He needs Wooyoung_.

Salty tears and sand under his hands and knees when he crumples.

_Where is Wooyoung?_

The seconds pass like hours, Mingi’s muted sobs keeping time. His notebook lays in the sand, half-buried like unearthed treasure. His shoulders shake when he heaves and clutches at the ground in vain. The screaming sign stands over him, watching. 

And then there are hands. 

Hands on his shoulders that make him jump, then hands rubbing his back that make him melt in relief. A soothing, “Shh, you’ll be alright,” and then, a light. 

The hands never stop, warm and large as they trace wide circles over the broad expanse of Mingi’s back. Even as his sobs turn to hiccups, the hands continue, even changing their dance to squeeze his upper arm and clasp his hand. The hiccups fade too.

A hand leaves him to grab the light and the stranger’s face is illuminated by a thousand lumens. Mingi thinks he looks like a cherub with those full cheeks and twinkling eyes.

“Are you alright?” the cherub speaks.

Mingi nods. _I am now._

“You get lost?” Do cherubs have deep voices? 

Mingi doesn’t know. But this one does, and it sends a rush of calm through his veins. 

Another nod. 

“What’s your name?” 

Mingi reaches for his notebook, sand cascading from between the pages. He can barely uncap the marker, fingers still weak. His scrawl is shaky, but he manages to spell out ‘ _M-I-N-G-I'_

“Mingi?” the deep voice rumbles. “My name is Yunho.”

 _‘Nice to meet you_ _:)’_

The smiley face looks a little pathetic, but art imitates life, Mingi supposes. 

“You need help back to town?” 

_‘Yes please_ ,’ reads his messy penmanship.

Yunho clambers to his feet, flashlight clasped in one fist, the other offered to Mingi. He takes it, stronger fingers wrapping around his bony ones, but somehow, they fit. 

The flashlight cuts an amber beam through the dark. No monsters. Just sand and surf. And now Yunho, too. 

Mingi doesn’t know why, but Yunho begins talking. About utter nonsense, from what Mingi can discern. 

A story about himself, when he was younger and got lost on this very beach. But Yunho decided to give up finding his way back home and sleep under the stars instead. 

A story about the time he interviewed for his job, and he was so nervous he’d put on two different shoes—one black and one brown—and hadn’t noticed until he reached his destination. 

Another story about a woman who had caused a massive uproar on the beach claiming there was a shark in the water. Turns out it was a rather large glob of seaweed. 

Mingi doesn’t notice, but his heartbeat slows until it’s a calm pattering against his ribs, matching the cadence of Yunho’s words. His breaths are no longer labored and shallow, chest rising and falling in time with Yunho’s. 

Before he can comprehend it, they’re back on solid ground, pavement hard against the rubber soles of their shoes. 

Yunho turns to him and beams. “See, back before you knew it.” Mingi offers him a hesitant smile in return.

“Feeling a bit better?”

A nod. Mingi means it. 

Yunho glances around them. Shops are closed, windows dark and no life to be seen within. There are barely any cars on the road, and even the ones that remain lie still and silent. 

“Um… do you know where to go from here? Do you have anyone you can call?”

Right. Wooyoung.

Wooyoung is going to crucify him. 

Mingi uncaps his marker again, flipping to a fresh page. 

_‘My friend Wooyoung_ ,’ followed by a messy rendering of Wooyoung’s number. 

Yunho nods and punches the digits into his own phone, putting it on speaker and waiting as the tone rings once, twice.

Before the third tone, Wooyoung picks up, out of breath and panicked. His voice is shrill, and Mingi recoils at the sound. No doubt about it. Wooyoung is gonna beat his ass. 

“Hi, I’m Yunho,” he starts, his eyebrow quirked in amusement as he reads the shame that’s plastered across Mingi’s face. “I think I have your friend with me: Mingi?”

“Oh thank _god_ , that idi—I mean, yes.” The relief in Wooyoung’s tone is palpable even over the phone. “I can come get him, just tell me where.” 

Yunho rattles off instructions to Wooyoung before hanging up, silence settling over them as they wait. It’s a comfortable silence, Mingi realizes. Yunho’s presence alone is comforting. 

“Your friend seems to really care about you,” Yunho says. Mingi nods and smiles. 

Wooyoung is his best friend.

“You guys here on vacation?” 

_‘Last one before we go to college_ ,’ Mingi quickly scribbles in one of the margins. 

Yunho grins widely as he reads the words. “Well if that’s the case, you should make the most of this town. It has lots of secrets, you know?” Yunho winks at him, mischief dancing in his gaze. 

“If you and your friend are free tomorrow, I could show you around. I grew up around here, so I know the place well.” 

The offer is kind. It’s _generous_. Especially considering he’s offering it to someone he found curled in a ball on the middle of the beach not long ago. 

Mingi finds himself nodding, accepting the offer for the both of them. He _wants_ to spend more time with Yunho. The kind stranger is intriguing and easy. A ray of warmth on a chilly night. 

Yunho smiles at his acceptance.

“Perfect,” he says. “I’ll pick you guys up from right here.” 

He splays his arms, a gesture that makes Mingi’s brow crinkle in amusement at the absurdity of it. 

He finds another margin.

_‘Sounds good :)’_

Dusty beams cut through the night, followed by the sound of rubber tires speeding over concrete. Wooyoung pulls up next to them in a blink, throwing the vehicle into park and jumping out, crushing Mingi in his arms like a vice. 

He’s shaking, Mingi realizes.

“God, I was so worried.” Wooyoung’s voice cracks as he draws back. 

And then comes a barrage of not-so-gentle slaps against Mingi’s chest and biceps. He probably deserves it. 

“Why didn’t you pick up?!” 

A quick glance at Mingi’s dead phone screen resolves his question, and Wooyoung turns to Yunho, thanking him endlessly. 

“It was no problem.” Mischievous eyes find his. “Mingi and I even made plans for tomorrow.” 

A grin promising adventure. 

Wooyoung gapes. 

“You’re welcome to join us.” 

“I—sure.” 

“Then I’ll see you guys tomorrow, right here.” Again that funny gesture, spreading his arms wide like he’s presenting some wonderful thing, when it’s really just an empty road with a single car, sitting idly and eating gas. “10 o’clock?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Wooyoung answers for the both of them, ushering Mingi into the car. 

He watches as Yunho’s retreating back disappears into the shadows, a wave and a lopsided smile thrown over his shoulder. 

Wooyoung shifts the car into gear and drives off, leaving Yunho behind. The promise to see him tomorrow lingers.

☼

When Mingi drifts off, tucked warmly under his comforter, the dark visits him again. 

It holds monsters and demons, the ones that plague Mingi’s nightmares still. But something is different this time. 

A ray of light, coming from a silly little flashlight. 

A smile so bright it could rival the sun. 

Full cheeks and eyes full of secrets. 

Arms splayed wide, welcoming him in. 

☼

As morning sunshine filters through the wispy thin curtains of their shared bedroom, Wooyoung turns himself over, away from the glare, and opens his eyes to see that Mingi is already out of bed. For once, he’s the first one up—an auspicious sign if Wooyoung’s ever seen one.

He can’t even count on his own ten fingers, how many times he’s had to wake Mingi up for school. Letting out a long, sleep-filled sigh, he blinks hard and removes himself from the comfort of his covers.

Mingi is at the kitchen island, eyes glued to his phone. At the sound of Wooyoung’s soft footsteps, he lifts his head, drops his phone, and picks up his dry erase board that already has _'I'm_ _sorry for being a dumbass :(‘_ written across it in blue.

Wooyoung had been too tired to scold Mingi on the way back to their cottage. It had been a long day, and Wooyoung knew that if he didn’t zip his mouth shut, words that he would probably come to regret the next morning would spew out of it. So he did exactly that; they drove in silence and darkness and once he’d been all set for bed, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow.

“Just… don’t do that again, okay?” Wooyoung says, standing at the opposite end of the counter. Gripping its edges, he stares Mingi down, watching his eyes fall further into shame. “And look, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have let you go that far. I should’ve started looking for you, but you just… you were so excited, you know? And you’re eighteen, you can handle yourself.”

_Can’t you?_

Mingi’s lips press together in a thin line, brows furrowing as he turns the board around to erase the blue scrawl. He writes again, this time turning the board to reveal:

_‘I thought I could too but then it got dark and I couldn't think’_

“Oh, Mingi…” Wooyoung pads to his best friend’s side, encasing him in a one-armed embrace. Mingi’s shoulders are hunched in—he does that when he wants to be small. When he _feels_ that way. And Wooyoung used to tell him all the time, _“Dude, you gotta stop making yourself small,”_ and Mingi would just shake his head and write on whatever surface he had access to, _‘I can’t help it. I’ve always been small.’_ So Wooyoung has learned to keep his mouth shut.

Instead, he just prays to whatever higher power exists that Mingi learns to do the opposite.

The clock on the wall reads 9:17. Right, that guy they met last night—Yunho, if Wooyoung remembers correctly—had invited them to go sightseeing. Or something like that. Wooyoung’s memory is a little frayed at the seams, both his exhaustion and the dark blurring the lines of dream and reality. But then Mingi is tugging at the hem of his t-shirt and writing, _‘we have to go see yunho today!!!’_ with his signature smile on his face.

“Alright, alright.” Wooyoung laughs and ruffles Mingi’s hair, feathery beneath his fingertips.

Mingi erases his message and quickly writes another.

_‘Did you meet anybody while you were busy not looking for me?’_

Wooyoung snorts and turns away so Mingi can’t see him roll his eyes again.

“No, but thanks for asking.”

☼

The scene is a lot less eerie than Wooyoung remembers it to be (but then again, he accredits it to the dark and his shit memory). Mingi has to be the one to guide him there, actually, since Wooyoung had been so occupied seeing red that there was no way in hell he’d memorize how to actually get to some random spot on a road that’s not exactly in town but not exactly out of it, either. He motions his lefts and rights, taps against the windows and occasionally swats Wooyoung’s shoulder to get his attention, before they finally end up back in that spot.

Wooyoung pulls off to the side as close to the curb as he can be and shifts the car into park. Both of them briefly survey what they can see—a few passersby, a jogger, some woman strolling her baby down the sidewalk, but no sign of Yunho.

They exit the car and stand off on the sidewalk (Wooyoung does a check to make sure he won’t get fucking towed for parking there) and lean back against the car. Thankfully, the sun is being generous today, the mild heat sinking into Wooyoung’s skin comfortably as the ocean breeze cools him off even further. Mingi unpacks those gaudy sunglasses of his and slips them over his eyes.

“Here,” Wooyoung says, handing his backpack over to Mingi. Instinctively, he unzips it to retrieve his notebook, when there’s a sudden beat of clunky footsteps and familiar rattling of chains that would definitely not belong to a local.

“Nice shades.”

Wooyoung’s head perks up like a meerkat’s. He swears he’s heard that voice before. And the footsteps.

A deep shadow materializes in his right field of vision and he turns, startling Mingi in the process. Mingi accidentally stumbles into him as he finally manages to grab hold of his notebook, yanking it from the pocket and sidestepping Wooyoung, landing by his flank.

“Whoa, am I that scary?” the not-stranger says as he approaches. Black on black, the stranger’s corporeal form appears even darker than his shadow.

“Uh…”

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, but here we are.” San lowers his own sunglasses, black-framed. He’s gone sleeveless this time, some band shirt with tatters where the sleeves would be, as if he’d ripped them off. Similarly to the previous night, however, he’s in those weighty combat boots, chains dangling down from the waistband of his torn jeans.

And now, brandished in full sunlight, are his inked arms, one festooned with vines that dance up his forearm, and the other home to an arrow strangled by thorns of a rose. On his right bicep, an elegant snake consumes itself, flowers spurting from its mouth.

“Is this the friend you ditched?” San asks suddenly, eyebrow raised as he smirks in Mingi’s direction.

Mingi’s mouth drops open. “Wh—hey, we ditched each other!” Wooyoung argues in defense, but Mingi is already landing a reprimanding slap on his arm. “Hey, don’t hit me, you were the one who threw a tantrum and left!”

“Your friend is funny,” San says, though it is unclear who he’s saying it to. “Hey, friend of Wooyoung, what’s your name?”

Mingi hesitates as if to see if Wooyoung would answer for him. But Wooyoung gives him that _look_ , that _hey, you can communicate, you just have a different way of doing it_ look, and he opens the notebook, flipping to the page from the night before where he spelled his name.

“Mingi, eh?” San smirks. “Nice. I’m San. Met your friend last night when he wasn’t looking for you. Glad he found you!”

Mingi scoffs and flips to a new page and writes:

_‘I’m not’_

And he turns the book in Wooyoung’s direction.

“You want me to remind you what happened when I _did_ find you, asshole?”

Mingi snickers, which consists of rapid exhales of air through his nose. “Your friend’s also got snark,” San says to Wooyoung. “I can see why you two are friends.”

“We’re a packaged deal. If you get one, you get the other.”

“Buy one get one free?”

“Sorry, I’m not on sale.”

“What a damn shame.”

_‘What if I’M the one on sale though :(‘_

And the three of them laugh like that. With Mingi’s voiceless one, San’s smirk-filled chuckle, and the laugh Wooyoung does when something’s not hilarious but not entirely unfunny. “So then, what are you doing around these parts now?” San asks once the laughter has calmed down.

“Ah, well, seems as if Mingi’s got a new friend after last night, so we’re waiting here for him.”

“Oh, what’s his name?”

“Yunho. And according to him, an _actual_ local.”

“Did he look like one?”

“I still don’t know what a local is supposed to look like, San,” Wooyoung says, mirroring San’s smirk, or at least trying to.

“Well, I can tell you this.” San tucks his hands into his front pockets and cocks one hip out. “I am most definitely not a local, and I have not seen a single person around here that looks like me.”

Wooyoung eyes him up and down. Sure, he hasn’t seen anyone who “looks like” San around town yet (he’s actually pretty sure he hasn’t seen anyone who “looks like” San back home, either), but even then…

_How is someone supposed to look to earn them the label of ‘local?’_

He doesn’t say that out loud, though. _I like your answers_ , says the voice lingering in the back of his head, and it sounds a lot like San’s. _But you don’t have the answer to everything._

“Heeeeey!”

A faint voice echoes behind them, a familiar one at that. Wooyoung hears the _slap slap_ of sandals against pavement as he turns around to see a wild Yunho running up to them, wearing sunglasses that, oddly enough, resemble Mingi’s neon green ones, just in the pink variety. “Ah, it’s nice to see you guys in broad daylight! How was your night?” Yunho asks as soon as he catches up, panting.

“Ah, it was good! Passed out as soon as we got home,” Wooyoung says.

“Oh, who’s that?” Yunho points to San, who steps out from behind Mingi.

“San. You’re Yunho, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah! What, you guys had another friend and you didn’t tell me?”

“N-no, I, uh… actually met San last night, after I lost Mingi,” Wooyoung says, glancing among the three of them. “He just happened to be around.”

“Mhm. This guy was ready to pass out on a bench,” San quips.

Yunho blinks, completely oblivious. His blank expression lasts for a good five seconds before he suddenly claps, a loud, sharp noise that almost seems to reverberate off the waves and into Wooyoung’s ears. “So! Exploring!”

Wooyoung glances to his right, where San now stands. How he hasn’t stopped smiling, Wooyoung doesn’t know. Yunho’s rambling on about something, probably about the town and all of its hidden beauty and rich history and things to do and people to see, but Wooyoung finds himself staring down, at the boots, then to the chains, then to the black etched into his arms.

_Do I look like a local?_

“Uh, hey, Yunho.”

“Yeah?”

“You and Mingi can go on ahead.”

Yunho looks at him, puzzled. “Oh. Are you sure?”

Mingi’s looking at him too, notebook tucked under his arm. There’s no way to read the expression on his face, but the fact that he isn’t writing anything speaks to the amount of urgency.

“Yeah! I think it’s awesome he made a new friend. He’s probably gotten sick of me by now.” Wooyoung adds a halfhearted laugh. “I, ah, I’m still a little tired, so I think I might go home and sleep some more.”

Yunho and Mingi exchange a look of indifference before Yunho shrugs. “Well, if you say so. You’ve got my number, right?”

Wooyoung does a quick check. Sure enough, it’s still in his history. “Yep.”

“Perfect! And hopefully Mingi’s phone isn’t dead today, so we’ll all be able to keep in touch.” Yunho grins widely, clapping again. “If you wanna pick him up somewhere else, or if you even want me to drive him back to your place, just let me know!”

“Will do.”

It’s an odd sensation, sending Mingi off. Despite them being the same age, Wooyoung feels like a parent seeing their child board the bus for their first day of school. A mix of fear and pride and uncertainty, but ultimately _happy_ , that someone so reliant on him doesn’t have to be anymore. At least, for now.

Mingi trails behind Yunho as they walk off.

Not even twenty seconds later, Wooyoung receives a text message.

**[Mingi]**

_have fun with san u asshole_

Wooyoung chuckles and pockets his phone, turning to San again.

“So. I’m thinking brunch?” the inked boy suggests.

Wooyoung’s stomach gurgles at the thought.

“I was thinking the same, actually.”

San smirks, nodding approvingly.

“I like your answers.”

☼

Yunho likes to talk. 

Mingi could have figured as much from last night, considering how he launched into story after story without so much as pausing for a breath. 

Mingi likes listening to him. 

His voice is deep but it pitches high and squeaky when he does a terrible impression, or low and gravelly when he’s trying to be dramatic. 

Mingi also likes looking at Yunho. In the ill-lit night, Yunho’s face was not done nearly the justice it deserves. His skin is a candied tan, probably from spending all day year-round on the beach. His hair is a sun-bleached fawn, the strands so long that they brush his long eyelashes, only to be hastily pushed back. 

Yunho’s mien is welcoming, friendly, not unlike a puppy, Mingi thinks. It definitely matches his energy with the way he bounces on his feet, springing with each step. They’re nearly the same height, but Yunho stands just an inch taller, and Mingi thinks he resembles an overgrown toddler. A very handsome one, at that. 

They amble through a part of town Mingi has yet to explore, Yunho pointing out landmarks and spouting random tidbits as they go along. Mingi’s favorite ones are the little candy shop snuggled between a tattoo parlor and souvenir store, and a suspicious looking alleyway in which Yunho apparently had his first kiss.

Lunch is at a little mom-and-pop with old-school booths and a red and white checkered floor. They both order burgers, and Mingi adds a chocolate milkshake with extra chocolate. 

“I hope I’m not boring you,” Yunho says, looking at Mingi with flushed cheeks and munching idly on a french fry.

 _‘No! Not at all.’_ Mingi scribbles. Then at the last moment he adds, _‘i like listening to you :)’_

Yunho flushes a deeper red, grin growing. It’s brilliant to witness. 

“I’m glad.”

Mingi doodles a cherub in the corner of his page, complete with wings and a little halo. 

They walk to the beach after, bellies full and appetites sated. When they reach the stretch of sand, Yunho kicks off his sandals and digs his toes in, sigh carried off with the wind. 

“You up for a hike?” He looks over at Mingi, who blinks back owlishly. 

Mingi isn’t exactly the athletic type, opting for gentler sports. Like chess. But Yunho doesn’t have to know that.

He nods and kicks off his sandals too, mirroring Yunho as they stroll across the beach. 

“This is one of my favorite areas,” Yunho starts. “It’s quiet, which is hard to come by when you live in a tourist town.” 

It’s true, Mingi notices. There are hardly any people around them, just a few stragglers like themselves, and a family with two small children, splashing in the water. They keep mainly to themselves, throwing a smile at the toddlers when they walk past. 

It’s a welcome quiet. One that invites you to think about nothing and just enjoy the sea breeze, cool and quelling. The kind of quiet that makes you acutely aware of every grain of sand that tumbles over your skin, and the very cute boy walking next to you whose hand is brushing your own. 

Mingi blushes and shoves his hand in his pocket, hoping Yunho doesn’t notice the way his fingers twitched toward him. His talkative new friend has gone silent as well, breathing in deep and long. Mingi watches as he tilts his head back, allowing the sun to warm his skin, radiant. 

“Come, this way,” Yunho says when he looks back at Mingi, bumping him gently on the shoulder. 

He leads them to the back of the beach, the houses and shops having disappeared long ago and nature taking claim of the land. There are low ferns and bright flowers with broad petals littering the border where sand turns to soil, and Yunho steps over, offering a hand to Mingi. 

_‘I thought we were going on a hike?’_

Yunho reads swiftly, eyes turning into crescents as he sweeps his hand towards his feet. Sure enough, when Mingi looks down, there’s a barely-worn trail leading deep into the foliage. 

Yunho offers his hand again. This time Mingi takes it. 

The towering trees provide blessed shade and Mingi rests his neon-green rims atop his head. Yunho’s vivid pink pair hangs from the low neckline of his shirt, swinging as he steps over roots and rocks, leading the way for Mingi. 

Yunho is talking again, this time about their destination. 

“It’s a small cliff,” Yunho explains. “It overlooks the sea, but there’s no beach beneath, just water, rocks, and more water.”

_Sounds lovely._

“I go there when I want to think, or just be alone. It’s a good thinking spot,” Yunho assures him, and Mingi believes it. 

There’s a pause. “I’m glad I’m not going there alone this time, though.”

Yunho is faced away from Mingi, but he can see a furious flush climbing the back of his neck that tints the tips of his ears. Mingi figures it’s probably the heat.

The incline starts gradually, and Mingi doesn’t realize that they’ve been going _up_ until he has to lean up against a sturdy trunk, the muscles in his legs begging for a break. Yunho offers him a water bottle that he’s seemingly procured from nowhere.

“I have deep pockets,” followed by a simple shrug. 

It’s admittedly a bit annoying how perfect Yunho looks in that moment, standing tall above Mingi as he struggles to catch his breath. Yunho isn’t winded in the slightest, sporting just the lightest sheen of sweat, enough to make him look like he’s glowing. 

Mingi, on the other hand, can feel droplets of salty sweat gather on his forehead, matting his hair to his face before sliding down his cheeks and dripping to his neck. It’s unfair, cruel even, that he’s been reduced to this panting mess and Yunho has to bear witness to it.

“It’s only a little further.” Yunho’s voice is gentle. There’s a hidden question there: _do you want to go back?_

There’s no way in hell Mingi is turning back now.

He pushes off the trunk and hands the water bottle back to Yunho, scribbling a messy _‘lets go!’_ right next to the cherub. Yunho sees the doodle and snorts. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

The incline proves challenging, but Yunho is patient with him, stopping when Mingi needs it and hauling him to his feet when his legs prove useless against gravity. 

When they reach the plateau at the top, Mingi is soaked to the bone in his own sweat, and Yunho looks like he’s been dipped in gold. But Mingi can hardly bring himself to care when Yunho flashes him a brilliant smile and presents the view with a flourish.

It’s simply _breathtaking._

Mingi limps to the edge, but not too close. Only enough to hear the waves crash against the cliff face and see the sprays of white water shoot into the air. Seagulls screech beneath them, cruising on a salty breeze. 

He collapses where he stands, legs crossed beneath him as he admires the stretch of horizon where the sea meets the sky. It’s cloudless and azure, bright and hypnotic. 

Mingi flips to a fresh page.

_‘You're right. This is a good thinking spot.’_

Yunho reads it over his shoulder and preens. “See, I told you!”

Mingi’s eyes fall shut as Yunho moves behind him. It’s partly from fatigue, but the siren song of the sea is soothing, a symphony of watery lullabies. He almost doesn’t hear Yunho and the surprised noise he makes. 

“Oh, hello.” 

When Mingi pries his eyes open and turns around, he’s faced with Yunho’s broad back. When he shifts his gaze beyond Yunho, he’s met with a curious, guarded gaze framed by gilded strands. 

If Yunho is a cherub, innocent and child-like, then this man is an angel. He’s beautiful in a way that’s otherworldly. Ethereal, even. 

His bottom lip is drawn between his teeth as he inspects the pair of them, and when he cocks his head to the side, his long hair falls away, revealing a blotch of red decorating the skin by his left eye.

“H-hello.” His cadence is halting when he speaks, unsure, but it’s his voice that snatches Mingi’s attention. It’s deep, much deeper than he expected. Mingi thinks he could listen to a voice like that all day. 

“I’m Yunho, and this is Mingi.”

Mingi offers a small wave. The boy doesn’t return it. He clutches something close to his chest.

 _A notebook_ , Mingi recognizes. His own notebook is held loosely in his hands, marker tucked neatly in the spiral. The boy doesn’t have a marker. Rather, he has dark pencils lined neatly in a shallow metal tin, some blunt from use and others sharpened to a point, waiting at the ready. 

The way he’s seated, knees to his chest and neck craning down and away from Yunho’s gaze, shoulders folding in despite how wide they are… it feels familiar to Mingi.

_This boy is like me._

When the boy doesn’t offer his name, Yunho asks.

“Yeosang,” answers the startling voice. 

“Nice to meet you, Yeosang.” Mingi knows Yunho means it.

_‘Yeah, nice to meet you! :D’_

Mingi means it, too. 

☼

Coaxing Yeosang from the depths of his shell proves challenging—he’s not very talkative, holding his notebook to his chest like a shield. But Yunho manages it with finesse and good humor and soon the three are sitting side by side, enjoying Yunho’s thinking place. 

Yeosang, as it turns out, isn’t a local, but rather a yearly visitor. 

Local-adjacent, Yunho calls it, and Mingi thinks San would like that description. 

It explains how he knows of the lucrative trail and perfect hiding spot, but Yunho doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

“I think it’s better to be alone, together.” He nods, punctuating the nonsensical statement. Yeosang hums, and Mingi nods in agreement, somehow understanding what he means. 

They make the climb back down to civilization as the sun begins to make its descent. By the time they step back into town, Mingi is one friend richer. 

Yeosang is the mild night to Yunho’s blazing day, a tranquil presence to rival pure energy. It shouldn’t work as easily as it does, but Yunho makes Yeosang feel like he’s right at home, squished between a silent giant and a pillar of light. 

Mingi messages Wooyoung that Yunho will drive him home, hopping into Yunho’s car as a ding sounds and a thumbs-up emoji flashes in the chat. Yunho takes them to grab dinner, and Mingi is so happy to be listening to Yunho’s silly stories and Yeosang’s low-toned laughs that he doesn’t want the day to end.

Yunho drives them both back—it turns out Yeosang is staying not too far from Wooyoung and Mingi—and numbers are exchanged, promises of plans for tomorrow and the day after hanging in the air. 

He jumps into Wooyoung’s bed after showering, his friend already burrowed deep beneath the blankets. Wooyoung whines in protest at first, but emerges nonetheless, smiling softly at Mingi.

“Have fun today?”

A fervent nod.

“I’m glad.”

_So am I._

Mingi crawls beneath his blankets soon after and closes his eyes, eager for sleep.

 _The faster I fall asleep_ , he thinks, _the faster tomorrow will come._

☼

> _It's only been a day, but I've met some really cool people. Their names are Yunho, Yeosang, and San. They didn’t ask me why I speak with a marker, and they treat me like I'm not small._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh you've made it to the end of chapter one!! Thank you so much for reading, we hope you enjoyed it!  
> If you did, please leave us a kudos and comment, we would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
> shan: [twitter](https://twitter.com/useumssi) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/useumssiiii)


	2. Beach Bonfires and Scandalous Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not Yunho or Mingi. He’s not some boundless ray of sunshine or thoughtful gentle giant. He’s some weird kid who draws mediocrely and wears long sleeves during the summer and has somehow adapted to not sweating because of it. He has a pink blotch beside his eye that he’s always hated and a reflection that he’s always hated even more.
> 
> When he finally makes it back to his bedroom, he throws his notebook and pencil tin off to the side somewhere, not caring where they land, and burrows himself under the covers, tucking the monsters back into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for self-esteem issues, mentions of bullying, a minor panic attack, and mentions of past violence!
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for the kudos and all the lovely comments! We're so excited to share the rest of this fic with you. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

As soon as Yeosang walks through the front door, he’s greeted by the sight of his parents at the kitchen island, browsing the local travel magazines even though they’ve been coming here every year for the past seven years. The first two years had been excitingly unfamiliar to pubescent Yeosang; he’d had all the drive to go out and explore and spend every waking moment down at the beach, but there’s only so much a beach town has. And, with the restrictions of his parents, he’d never been able to travel beyond where the beaches end and begin without them.

When Yeosang was seventeen, he’d managed to convince his parents to let him go out on his own sometimes, to “explore,” and to spend time with himself. The vacation was always meant for them, not him, he came to realize. They’d go out and about, spend time at the beach, go shopping, eat delicious food, and Yeosang would either stay home or go to his special secluded spot that he discovered last summer, which he supposes isn’t so secluded anymore. They’d come home tipsy, draped over each other, and Yeosang would be home at eleven, sometimes before. Midnight is his unofficial curfew, though it seems to be growing looser with each passing hour. He _is_ an adult now, technically.

At nineteen years old, how much reign can his parents hold over him during a vacation that’s barely his?

“Who was that?” his mother asks him, though she holds no vice, just curiosity.

“His name is Yunho,” Yeosang says earnestly. “I was drawing at my spot and he and his other friend came through. I guess I’m not the only one who knows about the spot.”

She smiles at him. “So are they your new friends, then?”

Yeosang is surprised when she doesn’t reprimand him for hanging out with strangers. It’s always been, _“You never know, this person could be a serial killer!”_ and Yeosang could never tell if his mother was joking or not. If those kinds of statements were jokes, they certainly weren’t funny. Besides, Yunho doesn’t seem like a serial killer, and Mingi doesn’t seem like he could hurt a fly.

Even so, Yeosang is wary. He always has been. He wouldn’t necessarily consider it a flaw, though; it’s good to be protective of oneself and he certainly is guarded and well aware of it. He let Yunho do all the talking, because Yeosang doesn’t feel like he has anything interesting to say and Yunho seems like the kind of guy who’s experienced everything in the world. And Mingi doesn’t talk at all, which Yeosang sort of understands. But during the whole outing, Yeosang felt warm, welcome, because this giant with the friendliest aura and the most enthusiasm he’s ever seen in a person never once asked him why he was wearing a black hoodie on such a gorgeous summer day.

Instead, Yunho talked about himself and the town he grew up in. He seems to love both with everything in his heart, and Yeosang can’t relate in the slightest.

He shrugs to his mother’s question. “They could be.”

His parents look at each other, then back at him. They’re smiling.

“Well, we’re happy for you, son,” says his father.

“Thanks.”

And that’s that.

Yeosang retreats upstairs, where he spends the majority of his time now. He showers and brushes his teeth and washes his face and stares at it despite everything in him telling him not to.

As he buries himself beneath his covers, his phone lights up.

**[Yunho]**

_hey!! so i’m arranging this little bonfire get together thingy next friday and i was wondering if you’d wanna come_

_it’s gonna be mingi and his other friend wooyoung and maybe this other guy san_

Yeosang stares at the text message, not knowing what to make of it. He met this guy not even twenty-four hours ago and he’s already being invited to a social gathering? Not a big one, sure, but four people at once is more than Yeosang has ever hung out with.

Food churns in his stomach at the thought, but his skin tingles with excitement.

It’s something _new_.

‘Friends,’ as his mother had put it.

Yeosang continues to stare at the message and wonders what it’s like to have them.

**[Yeosang]**

_Oh um, sure! Where is it?_

**[Yunho]**

_i live right next to a private beach, so i’m holding it there_

_dw i’ll let u know the details. or I could pick u up. OR. since u and mingi and wooyoung live near each other, u guys can carpool or sumn. idk whatever works for u_

**[Yeosang]**

_Is it within walking distance?_

**[Yunho]**

_depends on how much u wanna walk lol_

_from ur place i’d estimate about… 10-15 min walk? maybe longer idk im bad at gauging shit_

_also are u ok with alcohol_

Yeosang freezes, feeling like his head isn’t attached to his body. He has to be in a movie or something. This isn’t real. He’s been coming to this place for the past seven years and _now_ there’s this extraverted tall person and his introverted tall person friend and they’re inserting themselves into his life and making it seem like the possibility of making _friends_ is imminent.

_Don’t get your hopes up, Yeosang._

He sighs and types.

**[Yeosang]**

_I’ve never drunk before but I’m okay with it_

**[Yunho]**

_k cool!!! dw i promise we wont get too wasted. i’m a responsible adult_

_lmk if anything changes! plus u have mingi’s number too so if u two ever wanna hang out, dont worry about me lol_

_mingi’s really sweet, and i think u two would get along great_

Yeosang smiles, wishing Yunho could see, and that’s not something he thinks, ever.

He accepts the invitation. The meal that Yunho paid for remains a simmering storm in the pit of his stomach, and for the first time in seven years, his slumber is restless with something that isn’t dread.

☼

Mingi gets out of bed first again, and honestly, Wooyoung kind of likes it. It saves him the trouble of having to lug Mingi’s massive frame out of bed, or worse, having to deal with his morning crankiness. There have been times where Mingi would open his mouth and just _breathe_ and Wooyoung has learned to catapult himself across the room as soon as Mingi first drops his jaw.

And what’s cute is that Mingi waits at the kitchen island with a note already written on his board. The message itself, however, isn’t exactly cute.

_‘So did anything happen between you and San ;)’_

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow instantly. “We went to brunch.”

Mingi blinks at him, probably expecting further explanation. But in all honesty, there isn’t much to explain. They went to brunch, and Wooyoung went home. They talked about the town and how it’s nice but that they’ll also probably get sick of it in time. They talked about how good the food was and about Yunho and how Wooyoung met Yunho.

San had said, “He seems like he’d make the perfect tour guide. He’s eccentric and quirky. I bet he’s had a lot of people on their knees for him.”

Wooyoung had blushed fervently, not expecting (but also totally expecting) San to be so forward so soon, but he thinks he played it off well, opting for another impression of San’s signature smirk and replying, “And how would you know that?”

And San did it back, a thousand times better coming from the original. “I don’t know that. But I know I would be one of those people.”

And Wooyoung choked on his eggs.

The conversation repeats itself in Wooyoung’s head so vividly, as if he’s reinserted himself back into it, that he doesn’t realize that Mingi has written another message for him until he hears a snap.

_‘And then what?? ;D’_

“And then I went home,” Wooyoung answers. Which is also the truth—after brunch, San claimed he had somewhere to be and Wooyoung wasn’t about to impose on that, even if it was a lie. He let San go wherever the hell he needed to go, and he went home, where he waited for Mingi. “But enough about me, since my trip wasn’t all that exciting. What did you and Yunho do?”

_‘He took me hiking to this cool secret spot and it was torture but we also met another person!!!’_

“Oh, really?”

 _‘Yeah, his name is Yeosang and he is really quiet. I think he was drawing when we saw him but he closed his sketchbook so we couldn’t see.’_ He erases as soon as Wooyoung finishes reading and continues, _‘He didn’t talk much but he seems really nice. I think he’s lonely though.’_

Wooyoung sits across from him. “You think?”

_‘He was by himself in a spot Yunho took me through HELL to get to.’_

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at him as he erases. “Then what does that say about Yunho?”

Mingi frowns and pauses, thinking. “I mean,” Wooyoung goes on, “not to say Yunho’s lonely, since he really doesn’t seem the type to be. Plus, he’s a local, so it makes sense that he knows of all the cool secret spots.”

_‘He said he likes to go there to think or just be alone, but I think the difference between them is that Yunho chooses to be.’_

Wooyoung frowns this time, feeling a pang splitting in his chest.

If there’s anyone who would know that difference, it’s Mingi.

☼

Yeosang still doesn’t quite believe that Yunho was real, or Mingi for that matter. They seem like figments of his own imagination—deep parts of his consciousness made real in a desperate attempt to fill the friend-shaped voids in his lonely existence. 

But he sees the messages, can read the words in the multi-colored bubbles, and at the very top, Yunho’s name with a little heart next to it. Yunho had put it there himself, insisted on it, even.

_Mingi’s really sweet, and I think you two would get along great._

Yeosang’s never gotten along with anyone, not really. In school, he was the odd one out. Quiet, reserved, not inclined to socialize the way the other children had. And it’s not like it would have made a difference if he tried. 

Children are cruel. One look at his birthmark, the one marring his left eye, and his peers’ tiny faces would twist in disgust.

“What’s that on your face, Yeosang?”

“A birthmark,” he would reply.

“Ew, how’d you get it?” 

“My mother says I was kissed by an angel.” 

Yeosang stopped believing that lie when those children had laughed, pointing at his face, mocking him for falling for such silly words. When the tears spilled over, they laughed harder, their jeering becoming even crueler. 

The venom in their words never went away, even years later, echoing behind him up until he walked across the stage at his high school graduation and out the door.

After years of torment, he’d learned to block out the teasing, to ignore it. It still hurt of course, their ridicule of something that Yeosang had no way of controlling. But the stinging wounds, the bitter taste in his mouth had dulled. Numbed. It became a mere poke, a gentle jab where it had once been a sharp knife. 

Mingi’s words, though, are tall and stilted; bolded when he wants to make a point and littered with smiley faces. They weren’t jagged or painful. Instead, they were warm, welcoming. 

Yeosang’s finger hovers over Mingi’s contact information. Next to his name is a little giraffe. Yunho chose that one, too.

_I think you two would get along great._

Surprisingly, Yeosang wants to find out if Yunho’s guess is true. 

He opens the chat. 

_‘H-e-y’_

The letters are easy enough to type, but hitting ‘send’ is another story. There’s a repelling force between the bright button and his thumb, twin poles caught in the other’s magnetic field and pushing each other away.

A knock on his door ends the silent battle, his mother’s head peeking into the room. 

“Your father and I are going out, you okay to cook or something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

And that’s that.

Yeosang doesn’t know how to cook, but his mother probably knows that from the mess of take-out containers he amasses whenever they make their annual visit here. She still asks every time anyway, but leaves some cash out on the counter that he spends on greasy fast-food that settles heavily in his stomach. 

He decides to leave only after he’s heard the sound of their car fade away, the windows rolled down and his father blasting some oldies at a volume that, in Yeosang’s opinion, should be grounds for a noise complaint. 

Yeosang throws on a white long-sleeved shirt with some illegible, faded logo splashed across the front and grabs his phone, his notebook and his little tin of pencils. His essentials. 

As he’s walking, he pulls up the chat again. The three letters are still there, waiting to be sent. Yeosang sighs, world-weary. He’s nineteen years old, but the prospect of sending a message to Mingi scares him the way a child would be scared of made-up monsters in their closet. When you open that door, you don’t know what you're going to get—it could be a whole lot of nothing, or it could be your worst nightmare. 

He starts this pattern of looking at the message, _almost_ pressing send, then locking the screen and shoving his phone back into his pocket. The walk to his favorite take-out spot is about fifteen minutes from his place, and Yeosang catches himself pulling out his phone at least seven different times. 

The smell wafting from the little food joint is enough to distract him, though. He orders his usual, and the man behind the counter smiles at him fondly. 

“Back this year again, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Your hair… it’s longer now.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“And blonde.”

“I thought a change would be good.”

The man surveys him. “I like it,” he decides. 

“I like it, too.” And he does. There are so many things Yeosang can’t control about the way he looks—his pale skin, his thin lips, the slope of his nose, and that godforsaken birthmark. But his hair was completely under his mercy, victim to his whims. 

He’d decided to grow it long last summer, after seeing some surfers lounging on the beach. It wasn’t quite the windswept look those guys had sported, Yeosang opting to keep it a little shorter in the front and allowing the back to graze the base of his neck. The bleaching was a spontaneous endeavor, but Yeosang had ended up liking it more than he thought he would.

The man hands him his food over the counter. 

“Extra sauce, just how you like it.”

Yeosang smiles. “Thank you.”

As the door swings shut behind him, Yeosang thinks about how he wants to bring Yunho and Mingi here one day. He pulls out his phone one last time and hits ‘send’, the message flying out to Mingi with a _whoosh_. He’s opening the door and taking that chance. Perhaps there will be monsters, perhaps there will be nothing. 

_I think you two will get along great._

Or perhaps he’ll find something different altogether.

☼

Mingi’s pocket buzzes, a whiny _ding_ ringing in his ears as a message drops into his notifications. He’s surprised to read the name.

 _Yeosang_. The boy from yesterday with the silky golden hair, long black sleeves and a cherry red birthmark. 

It’s a simple ‘hey’, but it still makes Mingi smile.

**[Mingi]**

_hey_

_wats up?_

**[Yeosang]**

_Nothing much, just grabbed some food_

_You busy?_

**[Mingi]**

_nah, not really_

_wanna hang out?_

_yunho seems to think you and I will get along LOL_

**[Yeosang]**

_Funny, he told me the same thing_

_But yeah sure! Where are you, I’ll come meet you_

It’s a short conversation, but it leaves Mingi elated. 

He sends Yeosang his approximate location and a couple pictures of landmarks including a fairly colorful flag and a man sunbathing wearing equally colorful swimming trunks. He’s been loitering on the public beach that stretches behind their place for a couple hours now. It’s fairly full compared to when they first arrived, and today he’d barely managed to find a lounge chair under a spot of shade. 

His book is sitting open next to him, the pages being tossed about by the gentle summer breeze. It’s some sci-fi novel that he can’t bring himself to be interested in, the scribbles in his notebook proving to be far more interesting. 

They’re little moments from last night, frozen forever in smelly black ink and fresh lined paper. When his gaze flies over the words, he can hear Yunho’s fast-tempoed story-telling and Yeosang’s deep chuckles, embedded forever in these pages.

Yeosang had even drawn a silly little character in the margins—a little man with tiny arms and legs, face plastered with a glowing smile and a cartoony flower decorating its head. 

“Hehetmon,” Yeosang had called it when Mingi drew an arrow pointing to the sketch, questioning. 

Yunho had laughed and Mingi had snorted. Yeosang only smiled. 

“I created it when I was a kid, drew him on all my papers,” he’d admitted, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“You must’ve gotten in a lot of trouble for that,” Yunho had said through a full mouth of food.

 _You must have been so lonely_ , Mingi had thought.

The memory from last night becomes real as Yeosang arrives, sitting on the sand next to Mingi’s chair. 

“You’re a hard man to find.” 

A fresh page.

_‘I try ;)’_

He moves over and pats the space next to him. Yeosang clambers up next to him after a moment, masking his hesitation well. 

Mingi sees it nonetheless.

“Busy day?”

_‘very. i woke up, showered, and walked all the way here by myself. it was exhausting’_

“I can imagine.” 

Another moment of hesitation, and then a cautious hand offering a take-out container.

“I grabbed some lunch ‘cause my parents were out… wanna share?”

_‘oh thank god, i was starving’_

They don’t speak after that, Yeosang handing Mingi a fork and holding the container between them so they can share. The food is gone in a matter of moments, the portion not nearly enough for two people, and it makes Mingi appreciate the gesture even more. 

_‘that was_ **_AMAZING_** _’_

“It’s my favorite to get when I’m here,” Yeosang sighs. 

_‘you should take us one day’_

Yeosang hesitates again, but it’s noticeably shorter than before.

“Yeah, sure. We can go whenever you’re free.”

Mingi beams, and Yeosang smiles back. This time it reaches his eyes. 

_‘wanna go for a walk?’_

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

Mingi points a lifeguard tower in the distance, the structure looking like a dollhouse from where they stand. Yeosang nods his silent agreement and they set off, feet bare and splashing as they wade in the shallow water. 

_‘so… what’s in your notebook?’_

It’s a bold question, and Yeosang clutches the black cover tighter in his hands.

“N-nothing important.”

Mingi knows he probably shouldn’t push it, but he does anyway.

_‘c’mon, i showed you mine, now show me yours ;)’_

Yeosang snorts aloud the moment he reads the words. 

_Bingo._

“They’re just silly little drawings, nothing special.”

_‘i thought hehetmon was pretty special’_

“They’re not very good… but, maybe one day I’ll show you.”

_‘i look forward to it’_

The silence that falls between them after is comfortable, blanket-like. It’s warm and familiar, the only sounds between them coming from gentle breaths and lapping waves.

Yunho was right. It’s better to be alone, together. 

The lifeguard tower becomes larger as they stroll towards it until its wooden frame is looming over both their heads.

_‘i wonder if there are any cute lifeguards :D’_

Yeosang hums, cocking his head and searching for any sign of life inside the elevated little hut. 

“I hope so, but I’ve been coming to this beach for seven years and no luck.”

Mingi sighs, half-disappointed. Only half because, honestly, Yeosang is pretty nice to look at. He would even call him beautiful. 

Yeosang’s features are masculine, but have a dainty quality about them that’s enchanting. 

_‘oh well, we tried’_

Yeosang laughs out loud this time, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Yeah, we really did.”

They turn around to head back, but a familiar voice stops them. 

“Hey guys!” 

It’s undoubtedly Yunho. Mingi knows it before he even turns around. 

However, nothing can prepare him for the absolute sight Yunho makes as he stands on stairs, waving at them. 

The sun hangs behind his head, haloing his damp hair, effectively making him look like he’s glowing from head to toe. Water drips from his head to his chest, which Mingi now notices is completely bare. 

It’s difficult to school his expression as he so blatantly checks Yunho out, mouth drying out as it hangs open. 

The man is built like a _god_ , muscles defined like they were hand-chiseled by only the most experienced craftsmen. His abs—good god, his _abs_ —are on full display, all six of them (yes, Mingi counted) highlighted beautifully by Yunho’s honey-gold tan. 

Even Yeosang can’t stop himself from making a noise of surprise as Yunho skips down the steps and jogs over to them.

“Aw, so nice of you guys to visit when I’m working. I’m touched,” he says as he clutches a hand to his chest.

“You work here?” Yeosang asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Yep, started this summer.”

Yunho says it proudly, chest puffing out. Mingi appreciates it immensely. 

“Oh… nice.”

“Yeah, it’s actually a lot more boring than you might think. Surprisingly, there haven’t been that many incidents.” Yunho places his hands on his hips, which, of fucking course, connect to a deep V that dips past his swim trunks, red shorts that are hanging dangerously low and stop halfway down his thighs. “So I’m actually quite glad you guys showed up! Definitely the highlight of my day.”

_‘glad we could entertain you haha’_

Mingi briefly considers adding a smiley face, but changes his mind.

“What time do you get off?” Yeosang asks.

“Beach closes at six, but I get off at 5:30. What time are you guys gonna be here ‘til?”

Mingi and Yeosang glance at each other, neither of them having the answer to that question. “Uh… don’t know,” Yeosang answers for the both of them.

“Well, if you guys don’t mind hanging out in the sun for the next—” Yunho checks his invisible watch. “—three and a half hours, we could all get dinner. Or, we can all hang at my place! It’s a little ways down, but there’s air conditioning and I even have a pool table. What’s Wooyoung doing?”

 _‘I think he’s going grocery shopping, might be seeing san too i dont know_. _I think there’s something THERE if you get what i’m saying.’_

Yunho snickers. “Trust me, I get what you’re saying. Speaking of San, I also invited him to the bonfire. He said he might come.”

Mingi wants to write _‘wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t,’_ but refrains. Instead, he writes, _‘i hope he does!!’_

“I’m sure Wooyoung would be thrilled if he does,” Yunho says with a chuckle. “Oh, yeah! Yeosang, you haven’t met either of them, right?”

Yeosang shakes his head. “Wooyoung is Mingi’s friend, I know that. But who’s San?”

“The apple of Wooyoung’s eye, apparently,” Yunho jests, grinning at Mingi. “There was this whole incident where Wooyoung and Mingi kind of lost each other, I ran into Mingi and San ran into Wooyoung. I’ve only met San briefly, but I figured I’d invite him since he and Wooyoung seem to, ahem, get along.”

Mingi is quick to clarify, _‘i’m only hypothesizing here, but he so very obviously ditched me and you to hang out with san’_

Yeosang reads Mingi’s note and laughs. “I don’t know either of them, but it sure seems like they have something going on.”

Mingi smiles, partially because Yeosang seems intrigued by the people he hasn’t met yet, and partially because his laugh rings so pleasantly in his ears. It’s quiet, just as he normally is. Mingi imagines that it could be so much louder, that Yeosang’s smiles could also grow ten times wider.

And then he thinks, _Maybe that could apply to me, too._

“Well, we’ll see how it all turns out!” Yunho lets out a huff and gazes out at the water. “So what are we thinking, boys? We hanging out later?”

As Mingi is writing his answer, Yeosang says, “I think… I think I’m just gonna go home.”

He pauses as he’s writing the ‘e’ in ‘sure’ and looks at Yeosang, frowning. Yeosang’s eyes are locked on his feet, buried in the fine sand. Yunho also looks mildly disappointed, maybe even confused. “Oh. Are you sure?”

“Y-yeah. Don’t worry, I’m fine, I just… ah, I don’t…”

Mingi presses his lips together and scribbles over his answer.

“It’s okay,” Yunho says. Whatever fills his voice, it sure doesn’t sound like disappointment. To Mingi, it’s gentle, just like he’d been when he found him on the beach that night. Filled to the brim with empathy. Or something like that. Mingi eyes him up and down again.

 _How are you even real?_ he wonders.

“If you don’t want to go to the bonfire—”

“No!” Yeosang swiftly looks up, bewilderment present in his eyes. “I-I’ll be there! Just, ah, I’m kind of tired, so I think I’ll go home tonight. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Yunho smiles reassuringly, the sun and his sympathy reflecting off of him, making him glow golden like the angel he’s proven himself to be. “I’ll see you at the bonfire, then.”

“Y-yeah.”

Mingi glances down at Yeosang’s hands. They’re clutching onto his notebook so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

“Well, text me if you need anything, okay?” Yunho says.

Yeosang nods and leaves them with a hasty goodbye, turning on his heels and scuttering away, sand kicking up with each hurried step. Still frowning, Mingi and Yunho watch him until his figure disappears down the road, behind the houses that overlook the beach.

Yunho sighs. “He’s really sweet, don’t you think?”

Mingi nods and flips back to the page where Yeosang had drawn his little character. “I hope we get to spend more time with him,” says Yunho, and Mingi nods again.

Finding spare room on the page, he draws an arrow to little Hehetmon and writes, _‘i want to see him smile like this someday’_

Yunho’s eyes graze over Mingi’s message.

“Yeah,” he says. He glances back up at the road. Yeosang is long gone. “Me too.”

☼

The first thing Yeosang does when he slams the front door behind him is slump against it and sink to the floor.

Luckily, his parents aren’t home yet, and they probably won’t be until dark. Yeosang is fine with that; he’s spent nights here by himself before because his parents have social lives.

But now, he’s invited to a bonfire next Friday, and he’d just been asked to hang out _tonight_ , and it’s _too much._

In situations like these, Yeosang has been told to count. Count his breaths. Count the seconds. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

His notebook is squished in his arms.

_I thought Hehetmon was pretty special._

“Special,” he says aloud. He scoffs. “Where?”

Lowering his head, he continues to count until he loses track of the number.

“You’re going to go to the bonfire, Yeosang,” he tells himself, slowly rising to his feet, wincing at his joints popping. “You’re going to go to the bonfire and meet Mingi’s friend and Mingi’s friend’s friend and you’re going to be okay. Just… be yourself.”

Yeosang finds himself in the upstairs bathroom, directly in front of the mirror, his own worst enemy. He blinks, and for that one millionth of a second, the splotchy imperfection on his face disappears. _He_ disappears.

 _Be yourself_ , says those thousands of campaigns and motivational speakers that Yeosang has never listened to because there’s nothing about himself that’s “special,” whatever that means.

He’s not Yunho or Mingi. He’s not some boundless ray of sunshine or thoughtful gentle giant. He’s some weird kid who draws mediocrely and wears long sleeves during the summer and has somehow adapted to not sweating because of it. He has a pink blotch beside his eye that he’s always hated and a reflection that he’s always hated even more.

When he finally makes it back to his bedroom, he throws his notebook and pencil tin off to the side somewhere, not caring where they land, and burrows himself under the covers, tucking the monsters back into bed.

☼

Mingi does end up waiting the whole three and a half hours for Yunho, but Yunho sneaks him into the little hut of the lifeguard tower.

 **EMPLOYEES ONLY** , the sign above the door reads. Yunho waves it off like a fly. Inside there’s _blessed_ air conditioning, but the chill makes Yunho tug a dry rash guard over his head. Mingi mourns the loss of his eye candy for a moment before Yunho steals his attention, talking animatedly about everything and nothing.

The hours pass in the blink of an eye, and soon the pair of them are walking back to Yunho’s place, kicking rocks along the pavement.

Mingi wishes Yeosang were here, but he gets it. It’s… a lot. He at least had Wooyoung when he was growing up, to show him what having a friend is like. Yeosang only had his sketches, little figures pulled from his own imagination with glowing smiles and cartoon flowers. 

Mingi’s heart aches for him.

“I’m glad Yeosang is coming on Friday.” Yunho voices the thought swirling in Mingi’s head. “I hope he’s doing okay, though. He seemed a little overwhelmed.”

_‘i’m glad too. maybe i’ll msg him later and see how he’s doing’_

“I think that’s a good idea.” Yunho smiles brightly.

That’s the end of it, and Mingi’s glad for it. 

The scenery changes as they step into a considerably richer-looking neighborhood. The beach houses here are _massive_ , decked with columns and shiny roofs. Some have long driveways lined with sports cars, and others even have motorboats resting on wheeled frames, waiting to be taken out to sea. 

Mingi’s eyes widen as he takes it in, but Yunho is nonplussed, whistling and walking ahead as Mingi slows down to take in the sights. 

“That’s my place over there,” Yunho exclaims, pointing to a house at the end of the road. Even from here, Mingi can see it’s huge.

 _‘Holy_ **_SHIT_** _,_ _you live there???’_

Yunho chuckles. “Yeah, I do. It has a great view of the beach, and it’s away from all the noise of the town.”

Mingi’s mouth drops open as he hurries his pace, leaving Yunho in his dust. The house is big, painted in a darker shade of blue than his and Wooyoung’s modest little rental. The accents are a pristine white, giving off an immaculate, coastal feel to the whole place. Yunho’s driveway is long as well, but only his tiny car sits in it. 

Mingi bounces excitedly on the porch as Yunho catches up, unlocking the door and waving Mingi in. They’re immediately doused by a blast of cold air and Mingi sighs in relief. 

The interior is just as beautiful as the exterior. It's an open concept, the whole floor covered in dark wood and an occasional fuzzy white rug. There’s a little platform off to the side, raised by a couple steps, and a plush couch tucked into the corner of it. Mingi bounds over, forgetting that he is, in fact, a guest, and launches himself into the downy cushions. There’s a little fireplace to his right, framed by glass, and in front of him is an enormous window. 

It stretches from floor to ceiling, great panels of clear plexiglass allowing an absolutely breathtaking view of the beach below. There’s an outcropping of rocks separating the house from the beach, but it’s easily climbable, Mingi thinks. 

Something catches his eye as he peers through the window. Off to the left, there’s a wood stake pinned deep in the ground. A sign is attached to it, but Mingi doesn’t need to see it to know what it says. **PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSERS**.

He hadn’t noticed this house when he wandered here the other night. There hadn’t been any lights save for the moon, but even that had flickered out. 

_How did he see me?_

Mingi can’t bring himself to ask Yunho. He’s just glad Yunho did.

“Want anything to drink?”

When he turns around, he sees Yunho pattering around the kitchen, which Mingi had completely overlooked in his journey to the impossibly comfortable couch. There’s a bar with clean glasses and full bottles of liquor at the ready.

_‘just water’_

“Cool.” Yunho tosses him a chilled bottle from the fridge. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower. Make yourself at home!”

Mingi nods, uncapping the bottle and taking a swig as Yunho pads up a staircase close to the front door that Mingi had _also_ not seen. The entire left side of a house is a cozy-looking lounge area, complete with the biggest TV Mingi’s ever seen, bean bags, and one of those fancy egg-shaped chairs suspended from the ceiling.

_So, Yunho’s loaded. Good to know._

He settles himself into one of the bean bags, surfing through some streaming service until he finds something interesting enough to play. Before long, Yunho is thundering down the stairs, throwing himself down on a bean bag next to Mingi.

His hair is dripping onto the towel wrapped around his neck and he smells so _good._ It’s woody and earthy, but somehow still sweet and addictive and _Yunho_.

_‘will your parents be okay with me staying late?’_

Yunho reads and Mingi sees his smile drop for just a moment. _Interesting_.

“Oh, I live here practically by myself. My parents are always travelling and only visit on the holidays.”

 _Oh_. 

Suddenly the house seems _too_ big. The room is large and airy, but it feels suffocating. Bright Yunho, who has so much light to give lives _here_ , in this massive house, all alone. It reminds Mingi of an ant in a glass jar. A lot of space with nowhere to go.

Beach house. Mansion. _Home_. It’s still a cage no matter what lovely label is slapped on it.

_He said he likes to go there to think or just be alone, but I think the difference between them is that Yunho chooses to be._

This is what he told Wooyoung, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Yunho doesn’t choose to be alone; he only chooses _where_ —trapped in this pretty prison with all its baubles and trinkets, or on the edge of a cliff, where he can make companions out of the sun, the sea, and the trees.

_And a pretty boy with a pretty birthmark and a boy who doesn’t speak but has so much to say._

☼

When Yunho drops Mingi off, the sky is dark and inky, midnight fast approaching. 

Wooyoung is upstairs in their room, already washed and ready for bed. 

“How was your day?” 

_‘pretty good. how was san ;)’_

Wooyoung huffs a chuckle. “San’s fine, thanks for asking. Was that Yunho dropping you off?”

_‘yeah we went to his house and watched movies and ate pizza. he likes pineapple on his pizza which is… interesting. also he lives in a freakin MANSION’_

Wooyoung completely overlooks the pineapple on pizza tidbit, which would normally make his face twist in disgust, and opts for winking greasily at Mingi.

“Oh, so you went to his house?” His eyebrows jerk up and down in a motion that Mingi guesses is supposed to look suggestive.

It doesn’t. At all.

_‘uhhh yeah?’_

“You and Yunho? Alone? In his _house_? Give me the details!” Wooyoung insists.

_‘i just did! big house, pineapple on pizza, oh and we watched a scary movie’_

“Oh c’mon, I have eyes, Mingi. Yunho is hot! You’re telling me _nothing_ happened?’

_‘thats exactly what im telling you -.-’_

Mingi is trying to look serious, but Wooyuong’s suggestive tone dusts his cheeks with a pink flush, and it’s all the proof Wooyoung needs.

“Mingi and Yunho sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—” 

He’s cut off when Mingi launches a pillow at him, thoroughly unamused.

_‘nothing happened!!!’_

“Uh huh, sure.” Another wink.

_‘go fuck yourself. and san, while you're at it’_

He leaves Wooyoung in a fit of giggles, shutting himself in the bathroom. His face is still flushed when he looks in the mirror, and the memory of Yunho this afternoon on the beach does little to help his situation. 

How wrong he’d been about Yunho. 

The fact that he was bright on the outside meant nothing, Mingi realizes. On the inside, they’re one and the same. 

Mingi, Yeosang, and now Yunho.

A tall boy armed with paper and pen, a gilded angel with a notebook for a shield, and a man that burned as lively and as brilliantly as the cosmos—a shooting star plucked straight from the sky and kept in a jar.

☼

Yunho told them to arrive at 7:30, so here Yeosang is, standing in front of Yunho’s gigantic house just as the sun is beginning to set. His watch reads 7:30 on the dot, so he presses the doorbell gently. The chime of it is audible from Yeosang stands, followed by Yunho’s heavy footsteps as he half walks, half jogs to the door.

“Oh, hey Yeosang!” Yunho greets him and ushers him in. “You’re a bit early so I’m still setting up.”

Early? Yeosang thought he was on time, but sure enough, the house is empty, the only sound coming from Yunho shuffling around in his kitchen. 

“Here, grab these for me,” Yunho says, and Yeosang obediently holds out his arms while Yunho piles a bag of marshmallows, a couple of bars of chocolate, a box of graham crackers and some long metal skewers with wooden handles atop them. 

_S’mores_. All the beach trips Yeosang’s been on, all the beach bonfires he’d witnessed, and never once did he get the chance to taste a s’more. 

“Okay, let’s go.” Yunho is carrying a pack of red solo cups and a variety of bottles in his hands as he marches past Yeosang to the sliding glass doors leading to the back of the house. There’s a little patch of land there, but it drops off into a waterfall of boulders. Yunho navigates it easily enough, tottering down as though they were stairs. Yeosang follows behind, stepping where Yunho steps, making it down into the soft sand without incident. 

Yunho’s constructed a makeshift fire pit of sorts. It’s really just a wall of rocks that he probably scrounged up from the mass behind his house. In the middle, a fire is already blazing, a pile of dry wood sitting not too far off. There’s also a cooler filled to the brim with beer and a tiny foldaway table. All of it is circled by five foldable beach chairs.

 _Five people._ That’s four more than Yeosang is used to. It makes his belly flutter with anticipation, but in a good way, he thinks.

They unload their arms onto the table, and Yunho thanks him warmly.

“Y-yeah, no problem,” Yeosang stutters.

“Now we just gotta wait! Mingi said that he and Wooyoung should be here soon.” No sooner than when the words fall from Yunho’s lips does the doorbell sound again.

“Wanna come with me?”

“Nah, I think I’ll just wait here,” Yeosang says. The prospect of clambering back up those rocks isn’t the most appealing, and the crackling fire is soothing his nerves.

“Okay, I’ll be right back!”

Yunho hops up to the house with all the grace of a stag and Yeosang is left alone. He claims a chair and waits. The only thing he brought with him today is his phone; he’d thought about bringing his sketchbook but opted out of it. Now he regrets it, missing the feel of the solid, worn cover between his fingers.

Instead he pulls his long sleeves over his fingers—a washed-out red today—and waits for Yunho to come back.

Watching Mingi try to brave the rock face is amusing. Though he and Yunho are pretty much the same height, Yunho manages it with practiced ease while Mingi has all the finesse of a baby giraffe.

Yeosang almost doesn’t see the smaller figure following closely behind Mingi, wrapped in an oversized sweater that is no doubt dwarfing his frame. It makes him look tiny in between the two giants.

“Yeosang, you already know Mingi, and this is Mingi’s friend Wooyoung. Wooyoung, I am Yunho—”

“I know who you are, Yunho.”

“—and this is Yeosang. He is my and Mingi’s friend but now he’s gonna be your friend, too.”

Wooyoung laughs and steps around Mingi, running a hand through his hair as he does. Yeosang’s mouth goes completely dry.

Of all things, Mingi and Yunho had failed to mention how completely gorgeous Wooyoung is. His hair is long and a deep black, half of it pulled up into a ponytail at the crown of his head while his bangs frame his face like a picture. His nose scrunches up when he laughs at Yunho, eyes disappearing into almost nonexistent crescents. And when he finally looks at Yeosang— _god_ —he’s never wanted to disappear more.

“Hey, Yeosang,” Wooyoung waves at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

_‘;)’_

Yunho claps his hands dramatically. “Help yourselves guys. Hey Wooyoung, any word from San?”

“Not yet,” Wooyoung hums.

Mingi folds himself into the chair closest to Yeosang, knees pulled up comically close to his chest. Wooyoung, to his absolute _exasperation_ , settles himself in the available seat on Yeosang’s left side. He hadn’t worn any concealer, an oversight on his part, really.

His hand goes up instinctively to comb his bangs over his temple, the curtain of bleached gold hopefully hiding the blotchy mark. The action only serves to capture Wooyoung’s attention though, and Yeosang can feel his eyes on him, inspecting.

To his surprise and utter relief, Wooyoung says nothing, instead turning away to accept a beer from Yunho. He hands one to Yeosang as well, but Yeosang doesn’t quite know what to do with it. So instead he copies Wooyoung, who takes a long swig.

It tastes… _disgusting_ , and he very nearly chokes, coughing into his sleeve in a way he hopes is subtle.

It isn’t, judging by the way Mingi begins to do his quiet laugh, quick puffs of air through his nostrils as he hides a smile behind his hand.

“Hey Yeosang, try this.” Yunho’s voice is gentle as he hands Yeosang a can of _something_ , taking the beer for himself. It’s sweet, fruity and carbonated, and Yeosang is infinitely grateful that he doesn’t have to suffer through choking down the last of the beer.

“It’s sangria, if you were wondering.” Yunho answers the question before he asks. “And there’s plenty of it. Help yourself.” He sweeps his hand toward the cooler, and sure enough, there are the colourful little cans littered among dark bottles.

A sharp _ding_ sounds and Wooyoung lets out a low gasp.

“San’s here.”

His tone is disbelieving, as if he really hadn’t expected San to come. Yeosang wonders what Mingi’s friend’s friend is like. They hadn’t spoken much of him. All he knows is that he and Wooyoung have some sort of connection, right from the moment they met.

It makes something ugly roil in the depths of Yeosang’s belly, but he quickly stomps it. He knows nothing of Wooyoung, and even less of his friend. So he plasters a soft smile on his face, the biggest he can muster, and watches as Yunho leads the stranger—Mingi’s friend's friend—through the house and down the wall of rocks.

Yeosang doesn’t know what he was imagining when he’d pictured San, but it certainly wasn’t _this._

Even from a distance, Yeosang can see the tattoos on San’s forearm shift as he braces himself and climbs to the beach, the short sleeves on his black t-shirt allowing Yeosang to peek the beautifully drawn ouroboros on his bicep. His dark hair is covered by a beanie, stray strands falling loose as he jumps from the final rock.

In the light of the fire, his piercings shine, flickering with the dancing flames—twin sparks on either side of his bottom lip, hugging the plump shape of it delicately. Yunho leads him over to their little group and offers San a beer, which he refuses in favor of mixing a drink with the many bottles Yunho’s lain out.

“San, you already know Wooyoung, and Wooyoung’s friend Mingi. I am Yunho—”

“Dude, I literally met you last week.”

“—and this is our new friend, Yeosang!”

Yeosang gives him a wave, and San smiles back over the rim of his cup.

 _He has dimples_ , Yeosang notes. In a way, he thinks San is just as gorgeous as Wooyoung, if not a bit dark and mysterious. San flops into the only empty seat beside Wooyoung, and the way Wooyoung naturally gravitates towards San tells Yeosang all he needs to know.

The roiling jealousy in his belly settles into a disappointed simmer as he takes a sip of his sweet sangria.

“So!” Yunho announces, clapping his hands together. “I was thinking we should tell some stories. I find that the best way to get to know someone, is to get to know someone _else_ first through a storyteller’s eyes. So, who wants to go first?”

“Why don’t you?” Wooyoung invites, hand outstretched.

“Oh, okay! So. I’ve practically lived in the area my whole life. My parents own the house, but they basically let me inherit it once I graduated high school, and I’ve been living here ever since. But oh, god, the things I’ve seen happen on this beach in those two years. Pretty sure there’s still cum buried beneath all this sand. I don’t understand how people can have sex on the beach, like, have you ever had sand stuck near your junk? Shit’s _itchy._ ”

San opens his mouth, only to be cut off by Yunho saying, “And yes San, I _have_ had sex on the beach.” San bursts out laughing, sweeping the hair that falls in front of his eyes as he doubles over in laughter. “Seriously! The sand just kicks up everywhere, even if you bring a bunch of blankets or towels or whatever. It just ends up in places that you wouldn’t want it to end up.”

Yeosang glances at Wooyoung and Mingi to gauge their reactions—they seem unperturbed, and Yeosang figures he should appear that way too so he doesn’t appear like a complete virgin even though he is one. Even so, he can’t help but shift in his seat.

“I’ve also seen some drug deals,” Yunho goes on. “These idiots, thinking they’re being slick. But then again, it’s a rich neighborhood. The people getting the drugs _are_ the people who live around here.”

“ _You_ live around here,” San points out.

Yunho grins and points the lip of his beer bottle at San. “Yes, I do,” he says, answering two questions at once. They let out a simultaneous “ayyy” and point at each other, while Wooyoung and Mingi simply observe with nonchalant smiles. “Anyway, that’s it for me. Wooyoung, your turn now.”

Wooyoung turns to Mingi, who shrugs before his face suddenly lights up with realization, and he scribbles something on a blank page to show to Wooyoung. “Oh, shit! That! Okay, so, Mingi and I were freshmen, I think. We were sitting together in the cafeteria and there was this commotion at this other table. It started getting real quiet, apart from these two kids who started getting in each other’s faces about something, and then the next thing I knew, one of the kids threw his milk right in the other kid’s face, so that kid threw his own, and then the first kid literally _jumped_ over the table to tackle the other to the ground.”

“Shit,” San says with a chuckle.

“To this day, I still have no idea what those two were fighting over.”

And Mingi writes, _‘it was over a girl.’_

Yunho rolls his eyes. “Ah, adolescent boys.”

“They’re a disease,” Wooyoung jokes, taking a sip of his beer. “So glad I’m done with middle school, and high school, for that matter.”

“The worst things happen in the teenage years,” Yunho sighs, lamentful. “San?”

San leans forward enthusiastically, setting his drink on the sand and rubbing his hands together. “So there was this kid in my grade, real quiet, kinda weird and intimidating. He never really said much, but the school started spreading rumors about how he’s _dangerous_ because his father ran a taekwondo studio. Nobody dared to mess with this kid, until these three morons caught up to him after school back in eighth grade. They thought it would be funny to mess with him, shove him around a little bit just to get a reaction out of him. So they did, but one of them pushed the kid to the ground and they all started kicking him… and the kid got up no problem and showed them what _real_ kicking is. Ended up breaking one of the guys’ nose, giving another a black eye, and bruising the last guy’s ribs.”

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung says. “So… the kid really was dangerous?”

“Yes and no. The rumors that started before were untrue. The kid never laid a finger on anybody before the incident. He had a few bruises from when those idiots kicked him on the ground, so those helped when he told the school that what he did was self-defense. His father vouched for him, saying his son learned respect and knew only to use his strength in dire situations. The kid got suspended, but only for a short while. Same with the bullies. But the kid’s reputation? Down the drain. Got involved with the wrong crowd, started hanging around the people who liked him _because_ he could fuck somebody up if he wanted to, but even those people feared him deep down.”

The four of them look at each other, like they all _know_ , because San’s story sounds less like a tale and more like a witness account.

_The witness—and the victim—being himself._

They stay silent for several moments, but of course, Yunho is the one to speak on it.

“And that kid was you, wasn’t it?”

San smirks. “It’s important to know your own strengths and weaknesses. Those idiots didn’t know either, much less the reason they wanted to test me in the first place.” Just as quickly as the smirk surfaced, it disappears as if the sour memory drains his ruse. “I could’ve blinded that kid and broken that other one’s ribs, but like I said, I know my strength.”

“And your weaknesses?” Yunho questions.

“I have none.”

“Oh please, everyone has weaknesses.”

“Well, if I do, I’m unaware.”

Silence. All of them stare at San, who must be well aware of it. He keeps his gaze trained on the fire in front of him, the flame reflecting off of those soulless, troubled eyes.

“Those kids were idiots for messing with you,” Wooyoung says.

San lets out a heartless laugh. “Oh, trust me, I know. Maybe they should’ve listened to those rumors and fucked off instead of trying to—“

“I meant, like, they’re idiots… well, actually, _all_ of the kids in your grade were idiots for coming up with such baseless rumors. They didn’t even get to _know_ you.”

San doesn’t smirk this time. He stares Wooyoung down as if they’re back in middle school and San is trying to prove that he is not a force to be reckoned with, but Wooyoung doesn’t once break.

“It’s not like it matters. Even if they’d gotten to know me, they wouldn’t have liked me.”

“What’s not to like about you?” Wooyoung tries.

“A lot.”

“That’s not a valid answer. And even if there was something about you I didn’t like, why would that steer me away from being your friend?”

San doesn’t say anything. In fact, _he’s_ the one to break their little staring contest, chewing on his bottom lip and turning one of the rings poked through it.

 _That’s your weakness_ , Yeosang thinks, but he doesn’t dare say it aloud.

“And Yeosang?” Yunho gestures at him. “What’s your craziest story?”

“Uh… well, back in high school I would stay after school sometimes to get work done. I went to my calculus teacher’s room one day, which he was okay with, but about five minutes after I got there he told me he had somewhere to be, so I just sat there and did my work. It was getting late, so I got up to leave and as I was walking down the hall, I heard some… suspicious noises coming from the teacher’s lounge.”

Wooyoung’s mouth forms a scandalized ‘O.’ “Please don’t tell me your teachers were getting it on.”

Yeosang chuckles and nods. “Yeah. My calculus teacher was getting it on with the new biology teacher. And get this, they were both married. My calculus teacher was like, pushing fifty. The bio teacher was twenty-eight but looked twenty.”

Yunho cringes deeply, teeth on full display, curved lines appearing by the sides of his mouth. “My god, that must have been traumatizing.”

“I didn’t stick around, of course. But holy fuck, I must have not been the only one who knew about this because as it turns out, the other faculty members and even other students were onto these two teachers, and both of them ended up getting fired about two weeks after I saw them.”

“Seems they have trouble with volume control,” San comments, face alight with laughter. His head is tossed back in his seat, hand clutching his stomach. “Oh, wow. My school was boring compared to you guys’. All of the scandalous shit happened _outside_ of school.”

“Like?” Wooyoung invites.

“Well, no sense in hiding the shit I’ve seen. You know how I said I got involved with the ‘wrong crowd?’ I’m talking the kids who smoked, partied, had sex, got arrested, you know. The most scandalous you can be in high school.”

“Did you partake?” Yunho asks.

“Well, yeah, but I knew my limits. A lot of the assholes I hung around didn’t. You don’t know how many times _I_ had to be the one to help people when they couldn’t walk straight after getting crossfaded at a party. I wasn’t the one pissing in empty bottles or spraying dicks on road signs or destroying property.”

“So… what exactly _have_ you done?”

“In terms of what?”

“Scandalous shit.”

San shrugs. “Drink, smoke, party, fuck around. I’ve dabbled in graffiti, but mostly on walls, not road signs. Stole some shit. Things that suit someone like me.”

Yunho frowns and raises an eyebrow. “Someone like you?”

“A troublemaker. A punk. You know. You see it, after all.”

A heavy sigh breaches Yunho’s mouth as he shakes his head in disapproval. “Dude, if you’re talking about the way you dress or your many piercings and tattoos or whatever, that’s such bullshit.”

San’s eyes narrow in Yunho’s direction, tension spiking in the fire, sprouting goosebumps on Yeosang’s skin despite the warmth. _Dangerous._ The word vibrates in his head as he stares at San and the piercings through his ears and the tattoos encasing his arms and wonders what about him is dangerous.

It was self-defense. How else is he _dangerous_?

“I don’t think you’re dangerous.”

The words slip out of him before he can stop them. San’s head slowly turns in his direction.

“What?”

“I… um…” Yeosang stammers, heart thudding.

San might not be dangerous, per se, but he _is_ intimidating.

“I just… I just don’t think you’re as dangerous as you make yourself out to be, that’s all.”

“I couldn’t have said it any better,” Yunho says.

To Yeosang’s surprise, San doesn’t show any sign of rage, no frustration or annoyance. Instead, he sits back, one of the corners of his mouth turned upwards just the tiniest bit. “Well, I guess it’s nice to know _someone_ thinks of me like that.”

 _The tiniest shred of vulnerability in someone who has learned not to show it_ , Yeosang thinks.

“Some _ones_ ,” Wooyoung clarifies.

The other end of San’s mouth curves up, a smile unlike any other that San has shown within the time Yeosang has known him.

“S’mores,” he says, glancing at the supplies on the table. “I want some.”

“Sounds good.” Yunho chuckles and gets up to retrieve the ingredients, passing them around to the group.

Yeosang holds the skewer in his hand, observing the pointed tip. An open bag of marshmallows lands in his lap, and he takes one and stabs it with the skewer, glancing over to watch how Wooyoung is faring.

He has his marshmallow placed just above the highest point of the fire while Mingi has his at the side. “Um… how do you do this?” he asks.

“Have you never made s’mores?” Yunho asks, appearing by his side. “I’m no expert, trust me. Mine usually end up burnt, but from what I know, you have to keep your marshmallow _near_ the fire, but not _in_ it. Look at Mingi, he’s doing really well!”

Mingi has reeled in his marshmallow at this point, cracked and golden around the edges. He has two graham crackers placed on his lap, one with a piece of chocolate on it. Bringing the skewer closer to him, he lays the marshmallow down on the chocolate and sandwiches it between the two crackers, removing the skewer and holding it between his legs. “And that’s how you make a perfect s’more,” Yunho says with a beaming smile.

“Yeah,” San says, followed by quick exhales as he extinguishes his flaming marshmallow. It’s left with a partially black, charred outside, though he simply replicates what Mingi did and shoves three quarters of it into his mouth. “I like mine burnt anyways.”

Yeosang’s does end up burnt, actually. Apart from that, however, the inside of the marshmallow is perfectly gooey and sticky, and squished between graham crackers and milk chocolate makes for a concoction that Yeosang could probably eat twenty of and be totally fine with the consequences.

How he’s never had s’mores before, he doesn’t know.

And surrounded by four other people who don’t seem to abhor his presence or call him names or stare him down until he breaks?

He doesn’t know how he managed to end up like this either, but he far from minds it.

☼

Drinks flow fast after that, and their laughter even faster. Yeosang doesn’t know how many cans of alcohol he’s had, but it’s enough to leave a pleasant buzzing in his head. Mingi isn’t any better off, dozing off in his chair, notebook balanced precariously on his knee.

Yunho, Wooyoung, and San are holding up well, all things considered, though Wooyoung has migrated to the ground. His hands are outstretched towards the fire, warming himself up despite the already-mild night. 

Yeosang is satisfied just to listen to them—Yunho’s deep voice and fast pace, San’s accented words, and Wooyoung’s occasional high-pitched giggles. They blend well with the sound of the tide and crackling fire, a soft lullaby lulling him to sleep. That is, until—

“Hey, Yeosang.”

He lifts his head. It feels heavy. 

“Hey, Wooyoung.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“On the side of your face.”

His words sober Yeosang immediately, and he sits up straight, shaking his hair so it falls into his face despite the fact that the motion sends the world spinning in circles.

“Oh, it’s—ah, it’s nothing.” 

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” San chimes in. 

_Not helpful_.

“Does it hurt?” Wooyoung’s eyes are wide, concerned. 

“N-no. No, it doesn’t hurt.” 

“Not a burn, then.” San again. Still not helpful.

“No. Just—it’s a birthmark.” 

Yeosang looks away. It’s a habit he’s developed over the years. Not looking at the faces of the people who threw cruel words at him made it hurt less. Made their voices seem disembodied, as if the noise were coming from nowhere and not from people whose faces were twisted in disgust at his mere _existence_.

Wooyoung hums. “I think it’s beautiful.”

Yeosang starts. “You… you what?”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Wooyoung repeats. When Yeosang looks at him, he’s blown away. Wooyoung’s face isn’t judgmental, or disgusted, or revolted. He’s not jeering at him, or mocking him. Instead he looks _sincere_. He’s even smiling.

“You think my birthmark is… beautiful?”

“Mhm. My mother says that birthmarks are where your soulmates kissed you in a past life.”

 _My mother says I was kissed by an angel_. 

“Your soulmate must have loved you a lot.”

It’s a story, a fable passed down to explain things that couldn’t be explained. Nevertheless, Yeosang’s chest becomes warm. 

_My mother says I was kissed by an angel._

Maybe, just maybe, Yeosang will begin to believe it again.

☼

> _Yunho held a bonfire tonight, and San and Yeosang came._
> 
> _San tries to make himself look big, and Yeosang tries to make himself look small. They seem to be opposites, but I think they're the same._
> 
> _Also, Wooyoung says Yeosang is as beautiful as I think he is._

☼

Mingi glances over at Wooyoung, who is currently rolling over in the bed next to his.

“He’s so _gorgeous_ , don’t you think?” Wooyoung asks—it’s probably the fifth time he has in the past hour. And Mingi just nods, also for the fifth time he has in the past hour.

It’s just past midnight. Mingi had sobered up a while ago, but there was some leftover alcohol that Yunho offered as take-home gifts. While San had taken most of it, Wooyoung downed a third beer, took two seltzers and drank half of one on the way home, and now they’re here.

“Seriously, how can someone be _that_ pretty?” Wooyoung squeals and kicks his feet up, hiccuping. “Don’t worry, Mingi, I swear I’m not _that_ drunk.”

Mingi shakes his head and shuts his journal, shoving it under his bed and retrieving his whiteboard from his bag.

_‘Wooyoung, go to bed’_

Wooyoung reads it, his face scrunching up at the message. “No, _you_ go to bed!” he shouts, sticking his tongue out.

Unsurprisingly, Wooyoung falls asleep shortly after.

Mingi can’t help but smile, though. He settles into bed after changing, shimmying under the covers and switching off the lamp between the beds.

“Hey, Mingi,” Wooyoung whispers suddenly. Not asleep, apparently. “Yeosang… doesn’t like himself, I think.”

Mingi nods, not knowing if Wooyoung can see, or even has his eyes open. But really, anyone could see it.

The way Yeosang fixes his hair to hide the mark on his face. How he hides his notebook with his arms as if monsters would come and snatch his safe haven away. Mingi doesn’t understand how someone so angelic could feel that way about themselves.

“I like him, though,” Wooyoung says. “He should like himself. I like him. And you like him too, don’t you?”

Mingi nods again. “He’s…” Whatever word or words Wooyoung says after that become incoherent as he mumbles himself to sleep.

Mingi doesn’t know what Wooyoung says, but whatever he does say, he’s certain that it’s the complete opposite of whatever Yeosang would think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed the second chapter of this story!  
> If you did, a kudos and comment would mean so much to us! Hearing what you think really makes our day 😄  
> See you next week for chapter 3!
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
> shan: [twitter](https://twitter.com/useumssi) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/useumssiiii)


	3. Group Chats and Good Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San sobs as he floats in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by four men who have no idea of the extent of his suffering, but choose to feel it all the same.
> 
> Wooyoung laughs into his shoulder, holding him tight. Yunho and Mingi and Yeosang smile beside him, watching with pride as gentle ocean waves undulate around them.
> 
> And San sobs, hiccuping and gasping, for himself. For the boy he was—afraid and alone, hurt and broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a panic attack scene & descriptions of self harm scars!
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for your kudos and responses! We’re so excited to share the rest of this fic with you :)

San doesn’t know what he was expecting to happen during this “vacation,” but ending up in a group chat with four people he barely knows isn’t exactly what he had in mind.

He’s fresh out of the shower when his phone goes off. And that’s the thing—it normally doesn’t. His “friends” don’t text him unless they want weed he doesn’t have, and his parents haven’t texted him since they bid him goodbye. His phone goes off once, twice, _three_ times, that cursed ding on repeat.

**YUNHO AND DA BOIS**

**[Yunho]**

_YOOOOOOOO WHATS GOOOOOOOOD_

**[Wooyoung]**

_Yunho what is this_

**[Yunho]**

_a groupchat dummy boiiii_

_figured it would be a convenient way to keep up w da crew yknoowww_

_im also high LOL_

**[Mingi]**

_oh my god_

**[San]**

_why am i here_

**[Yunho]**

_bc u r our FRIEND and FRIENDS get put in groupchats!!!!!!_

**[San]**

_if i’m going to be forced into this group chat can i at least get whatever you’re on bc holy shit dude is your texting always this atrocious??_

_i need something to fuck me up so bad that my typos have typos_

**[Yunho]**

_yeahhhh i got good shiiiiit_

_lmk if u guys evr wanna get blasted_

_i can see air_

**[Yeosang]**

_Um…_

**[Yunho]**

_OMG YEOSANGGGGGGGGG HIIIII_

**[Yeosang]**

_Hello_

**[Yunho]**

_ok now that the gang’s all here lemme tell u whats up_

_road trip. saturday. my house, 11 am SHARP n if u arnt at my house at exactly 11 im going to bury all of u alive so u can see all the sandy cum for urselfves lolol_

_oh n bring ur swim drunks boiiiis_

_trunks**_

**[San]**

_oh my GOD yunho what are you on and can i PLEASE have some_

**[Yunho]**

_if u cum to the road trip then maybe_

_come**_

_eh either way works_

San laughs, thoroughly amused as he mutes the conversation and tosses his phone back on the bed.

A road trip, huh?

San hadn’t been planning on doing anything for this “vacation” since it wasn’t even his idea to begin with. But he’s sure his parents would be thrilled to know he actually made use of their time and money.

He doesn’t respond to any further group chat messages, but he does message Yunho privately.

**[San]**

_so about that weed_

☼

Despite the ridiculous manner in which Yunho invited everyone to this spontaneous road trip, San finds himself standing in Yunho’s driveway at 11 am that Saturday morning. Yeosang is there as well, looking bright-eyed, and so are Wooyoung and Mingi, looking decidedly less so. 

They’ve all got some variation of a backpack slung over their shoulders, and Yeosang even carries what San recognizes as a sketchbook in his hands. 

Yunho swings open the front door with a lot more gusto than the occasion probably called for, the heavy frame thudding into the wall. He doesn’t seem to care though, skipping towards them hauling a… _wicker picnic basket?_

“Good morning guys! Glad you all could make it,” Yunho greets them. “Especially you, Sannie.” San wants to hit him, but he doesn’t because in all honesty, that weed Yunho gave him had San astral projecting in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. So just this once, Yunho gets away with being a cheeky bastard.

Yunho’s trunk flies open with a chirp, inviting them to pile their bags in and hop into his car. Mingi slides into the front seat beside Yunho— _’longest legs gets front’_ had been his excuse—so he squishes in beside Wooyoung and Yeosang. It’s a tight fit, but cozy.

Wooyoung’s shoulder jostles against his as Yunho pulls out of the driveway and sets off, their destination still unknown.

“It’s a surprise,” Yunho says cryptically when Wooyoung finally asks.

He’d told them to pack swimming trunks and extra clothes in the group chat but had spared no more hints after that. It was entirely unhelpful, considering everywhere you turn in this town there’s a beach. 

“Settle in guys, the drive’s about an hour.”

“An hour? I didn’t sign up for this,” San grumbles. 

“Yes you did, Sannie dear.” Yunho winks at him through the mirror, and this time San does swat at his shoulder, albeit very gently, considering Yunho _is_ the one driving and very liable to distraction. 

“Trust me guys, this is gonna be so much fun!”

☼

San is very much _not_ having fun.

It starts off tame and tolerable—Mingi’s in charge of music because he’s in the passenger’s seat. His music taste is… diverse. One minute, it’s a top 40 hit, and the next, it’s a song with a barely distinguishable melody from an underground indie band with an ostentatiously obscure name. San will be jamming to the latest trap beat and then all of a sudden a power ballad comes on. It’s strange. Wooyoung seems completely used to it though, which is understandable since he’s probably been subject to Mingi’s wide music taste plenty of times. He even knows all the lyrics.

When songs that Yunho knows come on, he breaks out into song, and so does Wooyoung, which leads to some sort of impromptu karaoke show. Yeosang laughs every time Yunho’s voice cracks (which is often), and San occasionally joins in with the songs he knows. And it’s great.

While Wooyoung bursts everyone’s eardrums, San occasionally peeks past his head to catch a glimpse of Yeosang. Because if the others have functioning eyes, they probably think the same about him. 

_Beautiful._

And the mark next to his eye? Such an interesting place to have one. Unique. Exquisite, even.

 _Why do you keep looking away?_ San wonders.

And his _laugh._ His laughs vary, San has noticed. From low, halfhearted chuckles to shrill bouts of giggles. The obnoxious karaoke seems to evoke a lot of the latter, and San finds it hard to complain when that’s the case.

All in all, San has fun. That is, until Yunho drops an atomic bomb on the group and says, “So I’m taking y’all to a very _special_ beach. It’s got really high cliffs that people usually go jumping off of, and that’s what we’re doing today!”

San’s stomach jumps to his throat at the news. 

There’s no escape in sight; they’ve already arrived and piled out of the car, and the car keys are jangling away in Yunho’s astonishingly deep pockets. San follows because he has to, but he’s the last one out of the car, begrudgingly trailing behind the others as they march after Yunho towards their final destination.

With their bags and the basket left behind sitting in Yunho’s trunk, San should feel light, but instead he feels as though gravity has come down on him tenfold, each step a gargantuan effort. When they reach a well-worn trail it becomes worse, a simmering panic settling low in his stomach.

He doesn’t show it though. He can’t. 

_And your weaknesses?_ Yunho had asked.

_I have none._

So he climbs, a beat behind everyone else. 

San doesn’t know when this fear had started. It just always felt like he was born with it. San, social pariah, stoner, and a man with a fear of heights. The earliest memory of feeling that panic, that sheer _terror_ , was probably in his childhood, when he’d thought trying the monkey bars was a good idea. 

He’d grabbed the metal bar between his tiny hands, the paint rubbed off by many palms before him, and he’d hung there. His mother had said not to look down. He could make it if he didn’t look down. 

But he did. And he froze. His little fingers, numb with fear, had slipped. San had fallen. It should have felt like a split second, but to him, it was a momentary eternity.

A pocket in time where he just kept falling, and falling, and falling. 

Landing on the sand was jarring, but he didn’t even feel it. Couldn’t feel it, rather. His entire body had locked up, protecting him. His heartbeat had thundered like never before in his ears, a storm in his head. His mother had picked him up, dusted him off, and carried him home. 

He didn’t notice his tears soaking her shirt until they’d walked into the safety of their house.

 _Fear isn’t weakness. Fear is a reminder that you’re alive_. Those were her words.

So San stands by his statement from that night at the bonfire. 

Weaknesses?

_I have none._

☼

Thirty feet.

Thirty _fucking_ feet.

That’s the jump Yunho wants them to make.

Making the climb up hadn’t been so bad. The scenery admittedly is beautiful—tall, swaying trees and ferns sprouting from the ground, leading the way. San hadn’t even felt the steepness of the incline until they reached the end of the trail. The trees fell away to a small open area, wide enough for the five of them to stand shoulder to shoulder. And after that, there was nothing. 

The edge of the world fell away to the swirling, deep blue ocean below. 

When San looks down, he wants to throw up, his half-digested breakfast burning in his stomach. The water looks as if it’s miles away; not two stories high, but two hundred. San might as well be standing on the fucking moon.

Yunho scuttles right to the edge, inspecting the drop. When he turns back, he’s beaming. It makes San’s belly churn. 

“Are you guys ready?”

“Hell yeah,” Wooyoung chimes. Yeosang only hums and Mingi throws up two thumbs.

San remains quiet, but they don’t really notice. 

“After we come up, we can swim to that little beach over there.” Yunho points to a patch of sand not far off. There are already people dotting it, small figures from where they stand. 

San’s hands begin to shake.

“And then we can have a little picnic. The car isn’t too far off from there, so I could… San?”

Yunho’s words are watery, muffled by something in his head that makes it difficult to focus on his usually addictive voice. He’s trying hard to control his breathing, but it _hurts._

Breathing _hurts_.

He needs more air, and he gasps out for it, desperate to fill his lungs. 

“San?!” This time it’s Wooyoung, reaching for his hand. He’s warm. Solid. San’s hand shaking in Wooyoung’s grip feels almost pathetic. It’s uncontrollable, and San’s helpless to stop it as Wooyoung clutches his fingers and whispers—or shouts, San can’t really tell—his name like a mantra. 

The next hand on him is Yeosang’s. San doesn’t know how he knows, vision going fuzzy when the air just isn’t _enough._

But this touch… it just feels like Yeosang. It guides him to sit, to press his head between his knees, and to _breathe._

Breathe in.

One, two, three, four.

Breathe out.

Yeosang counts for him. God knows San can’t remember his own name right now, let alone how to count.

Clarity comes with time, but San doesn’t know how long it is that they sit there, Wooyoung on one side, Yeosang bracing the other. Yunho is sitting across from him, looking guilty; at any other time, San would have admired the way his full bottom lip juts out like a velvet petal, or the way his face flushes a dusty pink.

“I’m so sorry, San. I should’ve asked before—” San cuts him off with a wave.

“Don’t be sorry, Yunho. You only meant to make it a fun surprise for us. I should have said something before climbing all the way up here and inconveniencing you all.”

Wooyoung huffs a laugh. “You’re a lot of things San, but an inconvenience is not one of them.”

“I just—I’m sorry for ruining this.”

_‘You didn’t ruin anything, it’s ok to be scared’_

Mingi’s words are scribbled on the skin of his arm with washable marker, his notebook left behind in the car. The words, a cool blue against milky skin, are soothing. Mingi’s face is worried, cheeks puffed out and eyebrows drawn together. He crouches next to them, knees pulled up to his chest. The marker is a blur as he finds a fresh patch of skin and writes.

_‘I can stay up here with you, and then we can walk down together and meet them at the beach’_

San starts. It’s one thing to receive empathy, but _pity_ is where he draws the line. It makes him feel tiny and weak. Like an ant under a magnifying glass, or a child lying in the sand, paralyzed by fear. 

Yunho pokes him in the side. “Wanna admit it now?”

“Admit what?”

“That you, Sannie, do have a weakness.” Yunho’s face is teasing, but the look in his eyes makes goosebumps rise along San’s arms. It’s an all-knowing gaze, one that tells San that the man feels more than he lets on; that though they’ve known each other only for a short time, Yunho probably knows more about him than anybody back home.

 _I see you._ That’s what his eyes say. And San body sags in relief.

 _Thank you._

The chuckle that escapes San is one of genuine amusement.

“A fear isn’t a weakness, so my statement still stands,” San argues, albeit jokingly.

“I would argue that a fear is, in fact, a weakness,” Yunho presses. San smiles again, and the pity melts away in Mingi’s eyes, replaced by curiosity. Wooyoung’s fingers weave through his, and San notices his hand is steady. Yeosang still rubs his back in smooth circles and San leans into it now, grateful.

“Fear isn’t a weakness. I think it’s perfectly normal that I don’t wanna throw my body off a thirty foot drop.” 

_‘im afraid of spiders’_

San laughs out loud when Mingi doodles a tiny spider next to his words.

“I’m afraid of planes.” That’s Yeosang, voice deep and steady. 

“I’m afraid of my mom.” Wooyoung looks completely genuine, enough to make San chuckle again. “What about you, Yunho?”

The man pretends to think about it, but San already knows the words that are about to come out of his mouth.

“I have no fears.” He winks, smirking.

“Bullshit,” San scoffs. “Everyone is afraid of _something_.”

Yunho shrugs. “Can’t help that I’m perfect.”

Mingi hits Yunho on the arm with an amused huff, and Yunho pretends to fall over and cry out in pain. It certainly is a sight to see a grown man writhe on the ground in pretend pain, but it lifts San’s spirits nonetheless. 

“You really don’t have to jump,” Yeosang says. His hand has halted its smooth path across his back, but it lies against him, solid.

San sighs. “Fear isn’t a weakness.” He repeats his words from earlier. “But fear can be faced.” 

“San, you really don’t have to—” Wooyoung is cut off when he stands and walks over to the edge, looking over. The distance between them and the water stretches for eons.

“No… I think I want to.”

_Fear is a reminder that you’re alive._

San hasn’t felt this alive in years, and he still hasn’t even made the jump yet. Standing here, between these four guys that he met a week ago, San realizes that he feels more alive now than ever before. 

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it. Right now.”

“San, are you sure?” Yunho looks worried.

“I’m sure. Now let’s do it before I change my mind or lose all feeling in my legs.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to. Yunho drove us all the way out here, we climbed this damn hill, and I feel fucking _alive_ , dammit. A fear is a fear. It isn't a weakness. A weakness would be allowing my fear to stop me from doing shit like this—from taking chances. So I say, let’s fucking do it.”

The other four rise to their feet. Yeosang stands to his right, and Wooyoung to his left while Mingi and Yunho tower at Wooyoung’s side.

“You’re sure, San?” Wooyoung asks this time. When San looks at him, he knows. He’s never been more sure.

“Yes.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Wooyoung holds his hand, and Yeosang does the same. 

Yunho counts them down. 

Three.

Two.

One.

 _Now or never._

San’s legs don’t falter as he runs toward the edge. His heartbeat quickens and his palms begin to sweat, but never once does his body stop hurtling toward the drop.

It feels like forever that they’re sprinting with all their might, but the edge eventually comes and they leap over it.

Five bodies, clasping hands, flying in the sky, then falling into the sea.

☼

Time slows as they fall. At least for San, it does. Wooyoung’s screams are shrill and piercing, but Yeosang barely makes a sound. Yunho is whooping in unadulterated joy and Mingi’s mouth is open in a silent screech. San’s fingers tighten in Wooyoung’s and Yeosang’s hands, but he doesn’t know if they notice. He doesn’t care if they do. 

_Don’t look down._ So San looks up at the clear, azure sky that seems to be getting closer and further away at the same time. 

He doesn’t realize they’ve hit the water until he’s pulled to the surface by Yeosang’s hands. Yunho is pumping a fist in the air and Mingi is splashing about happily, blue ink smudging on his arm. Something rises in San’s chest; it’s visceral, like it’s been sitting there for ages and is now struggling to be released.

Wooyoung pulls him in. 

“You did it, San!”

It fights, clawing and tearing its way free. And it wins.

San begins to cry, deep and gut-wrenching. It's _years_ of pain, falling out at once. All the rumors, the fights, the drinking, and the drugs. The agony of being alone, of _suffering_ alone, finally being felt by the man who threw up walls fit for a nuclear attack. It all spills over and stings his eyes, burning hot in his chest.

San sobs as he floats in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by four men who have no idea of the extent of his suffering, but choose to feel it all the same.

Wooyoung laughs into his shoulder, holding him tight. Yunho and Mingi and Yeosang smile beside him, watching with pride as gentle ocean waves undulate around them.

And San sobs, hiccuping and gasping, for himself. For the boy he was—afraid and alone, hurt and broken. 

“You did it, San.” This time it’s a whisper brushing gently against his ear, a pair of arms squeezing him, warm despite the freezing water.

_All I did was jump. You did the rest._

San’s cries quiet as he leans into Wooyoung’s body. Wooyoung’s embrace feels _safe_. An odd sensation, but familiar. Memories flash of his mother and father, who’d used to hold him just like this when he fell and scraped a knee, or brought home an art project he’d been proud of. But after that incident—the one that shaped San in ways he wishes it hadn’t—the safe embraces were few and far between. Until they stopped altogether.

Nothing felt the same after that. San had only himself, could only count on himself. 

But here, right now, San feels it bloom in his chest.

Wooyoung’s arms? _Safe._

☼

They’re swimming to shore when San sees it. It’s only for a moment, but it’s enough to glimpse it. To understand. 

Yeosang raises his arm above his head as they swim to the shore, long sleeves falling away from his skin with the weight of heavy water.

There are many on his forearm; long and shallow lines that have healed as nothing more than silvery scars, and raised patches of dark tissue. Angry red lines from where the skin was split more than once, and jagged scars from when his hand must’ve shaken. 

_I’m afraid of planes._ That’s what he said. San had believed it.

 _Liar_. 

☼

As soon as they return back to Yunho’s place, all five of them pass out.

They’d lounged on the beach for a while, snacking on the surprising amount of food Yunho had managed to wedge into his picnic basket and just enjoying the cool breeze and friendly waters. They’d piled back into the car as the sun began to descend, exhausted, sated, and elated beyond belief. 

Wooyoung was in charge of music this time; he played a more consistent mix of similar genres that was probably more pleasing to everyone’s ears. It lulled them to sleep, actually, the adrenaline from the jump having worn off as soon as his butt hit the carseat. There was no karaoke, at least, not from what Wooyoung could discern in his sleep state, and when he woke up, everyone was asleep apart from Yunho.

They stopped for dinner by this fast food place that Yeosang had vouched for (“Shit, I haven’t been here in forever,” Yunho had said) and indulged in a little grease and salt before heading home. The first thing Yunho does is launch himself onto one of the sofas in the lounge and conk out, the sun hanging low in the sky.

Wooyoung’s slumber is much shorter and shallower. When he wakes up, the sun is no more and the sky has been rendered a deep grayish blue. Yunho and Mingi are deep in dreamland still, occupying both of the lounge’s couches with their mouths hanging open. Yeosang is curled up on one of the bean bags, notebook cradled in his arms, and San is rummaging behind the bar.

Wooyoung chuckles softly as he approaches. “Already in the mood to drink?” he whispers.

San pulls out a bright blue malt beverage from the mini fridge. “I think I deserve it, after today,” he says. “You want something?”

Wooyoung shakes his head and sits at one of the stools as San twists the cap off and takes a long swig. “I’m proud of you, you know,” Wooyoung says. San raises a brow at him and lowers the bottle from his lips.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious, though. You conquered a fear. That’s pretty commendable and deserving of praise.”

San scoffs, smirking. Classic San. “I wouldn’t say I _conquered_ it. I just faced it. It’s always gonna be there, and it can’t just go away, you know? I feel like that’s how it is with most fears.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Wooyoung laughs weakly. Out of all the things he could be afraid of, heights isn’t one of them.

His true fear and the fact that he fears it in the first place makes him feel pathetic.

“Haven’t faced your fear yet?” San questions.

Wooyoung shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

San shrugs. “You don’t have to tell me what it is, since that’s your business. But I’m sure you’ll be able to someday.”

“Thanks.”

The two of them gaze out at the beach, home to gentle waves lapping at the shore under pale moonlight. Wooyoung is in awe at how Yunho can live so lavishly like this, with such an open view of one of the world’s greatest wonders instead of tightly-packed buildings and smoke that Wooyoung is used to. Perhaps Mingi had been exaggerating when he said Yunho lives in a _mansion_ , but this home is certainly not _just_ middle class.

And to think, he lives here by _himself_?

_How lonely it must be._

It makes Wooyoung wonder, how many people have walked on these floors? How many people got drunk and passed out on the fuzzy white carpets or the bean bags or the egg chair? How many people have fucked upstairs, thrown up on the bathroom floor, and stumbled out the door and onto the sand?

Or has it just been Yunho all this time?

If Wooyoung had a house like this, there would be parties all the time. He doesn’t know a lot about Yunho, but from what he does know, it’s as if Yunho doesn’t seem to hang out with anyone else except them. And for someone who’s lived here for years, Wooyoung finds it peculiar.

_What secrets are you hiding in this house, Yunho?_

_What secrets are you hiding in_ you _?_

“Hey,” San says suddenly, “you down to take a walk?”

“Depends on where,” Wooyoung replies.

“Just to the beach.”

“I would imagine you’ve had enough of that today.”

San rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his drink and setting it down. “This doesn’t involve jumping from a thirty-foot cliff, though. Just a walk and some good company.”

_Good company._

San thinks he’s _good company._

Wooyoung’s heart flutters as he gets to his feet and follows San out the door and around the back, down the mound of rocks and grass and onto the sand, smooth and invigorating between his toes. They walk casually, slowly, arms brushing against each other occasionally as the waves send their breeze as a warm welcome.

San branches off to the wet sand, where the water meets the shore, and Wooyoung watches as his footprints appear and disappear when the water fills them. From behind, San looks like even more of a mystery, not just some tattooed punk with piercings and a surly demeanor—he is just another person, one who fears heights and has secrets, just like everyone else.

He is no local. But he is no anomaly, either. At least, not in Wooyoung’s eyes.

Wooyoung wonders why he tries so hard to be one.

Suddenly, San stops in his tracks not even halfway down the strip of sand. He glances over his shoulder, meeting Wooyoung’s eyes for a split second before tugging his shirt off and tossing it on the sand.

“Uh…” Wooyoung starts.

And then his shorts.

San smirks in his direction. “What? Just going for a swim. Care to join?”

He doesn’t even await Wooyoung’s answer, and Wooyoung is too distracted to even offer one. Throwing his shorts in the complete opposite direction of his shirt, he wades into the water in just his underwear and falls into the tide once it’s deep enough.

When his head resurfaces, he shakes the water from his hair and calls out, “Well? You coming in or what?”

When there’s an incredibly hot guy clad in his underwear swimming in the ocean and inviting him to join, how could Wooyoung _not_?

Shoving away the insecurities that threaten to crawl up his throat, Wooyoung braces himself, stripping down to his underwear as well and joining San in the water, where their feet just barely touch the floor. San breaks out into a full grin as Wooyoung lifts his head from underwater, and not the cocky half-smirk Wooyoung is used to.

It’s the same one he’d seen when San defeated the cliff.

_If this is what real happiness looks like on you, I want to see it more._

Wooyoung looks at San and thinks this is the brightest night he’s ever witnessed.

He has never seen somebody so clearly in such a lack of light. Moonbeams reflect off the water clinging to his skin and shimmer off of his piercings, illuminating the smaller features—the tiny moles on his face and even a patch of freckles dotting the right side of his neck.

“Tonight is so bright,” Wooyoung thinks aloud.

“Isn’t it?” San smiles, _genuine_.

Feeling boldness rolling around in his gut, Wooyoung adds, “The good company makes it even better.”

_Good, insanely hot, mysterious, and far from dangerous company._

He spoke too soon, apparently, because after their eyes lock for three whole seconds, San takes that moment as an opportunity to send a giant splash of water directly into Wooyoung’s face.

“Hey!” Wooyoung splutters, wiping it from his eyelashes only to see San making a break for it. “Get back here!”

And San _laughs_ , garbled by water as he lets Wooyoung catch up to him and dunk his head under, only to somehow be dragged down as well. With his eyes squeezed shut, Wooyoung lets his hands do all the work, ensuring that San doesn’t even get the chance to get away, but he quickly figures out that he won’t.

Because San is latching onto his arm and pulling and pushing but _never letting go_. In a lighthearted battle of limbs and water, the two probably swallow enough salt water to satiate their sodium needs for the next twenty-four hours.

Their heads finally bob above water as they gasp for breath, ejecting water from their mouths and laughing as they do. And what’s more, San is _close_ , so close that Wooyoung can feel his breath and smell that tangy scent attached to him.

“Hey,” San says. He’s smirking again.

“Hey.” Wooyoung figures that two can play at this game.

And then, San raises one of his hands out of the water, and it holds a pair of soaked-through underwear.

“What the—”

San bursts out laughing. “San! You did _not_!” Wooyoung shrieks, followed by his own bout of laughter.

“Hey, I’m sure Yunho’s seen worse!”

Wooyoung can’t argue with that. He shudders, thinking about the possibility that they’re swimming in someone’s cum.

It’s one thing to have a makeshift underwater wrestling match. It’s another thing to have a makeshift underwater wrestling match while one of the participants is stark naked and the other one is very undeniably attracted to him. When San tackles him again, there’s less laughter on Wooyoung’s part because not only is he holding his breath so he doesn’t get water up his nose, he’s holding his breath to try and will away the hard-on that threatens to appear and ruin this whole thing.

He keeps his eyes shut the entire time, shuts away the bright night, because if he sees San’s dick, he may very well burst into flames.

In the entanglement of limbs and skin on skin, Wooyoung is pretty sure San’s dick brushes up against his thigh or something, and he screws his eyes shut even tighter.

“Uh, hey!” A muffled voice sounds from the distance.

When Wooyoung’s head breaches the surface, he sees Yeosang by the shore, and he has never been so thankful for a cockblock in his life.

“Oh, hey Yeosang!” San calls back, waving broadly. “You should come join us! The water’s great!”

Even from a distance, Wooyoung can see the hesitation in Yeosang’s face. He has his arms wrapped around himself, draped in long sleeves even though the night is warm. Like he’s freezing in the middle of paradise, but he’s not shivering. He’s standing knee-deep, not nearly as close as Wooyoung would like him to be.

So Wooyoung swims backwards to meet him there, keeping his body submerged even in the shallow end, and holds his hand up to Yeosang. “You okay?” he asks.

Yeosang nods. “Yeah! Just, ah, I saw you two were gone when I woke up, and then I saw you guys from the window and decided to come down.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” Wooyoung says, nodding down at his hand. “You coming in or what?

Yeosang bows his head, staring at Wooyoung’s hand in blatant contemplation. Those few seconds feel like an eternity, but he eventually takes it, gradually sinking into the water with Wooyoung, and the two make their way back to the swimming site next to San.

“How, um, how are you feeling, San?” Yeosang asks.

“I’m feeling _great_.”

“Whatever you do, don’t look down,” Wooyoung says.

Yeosang’s eyes bulge out of his head. “You _didn’t_.”

“Of course I did!” San cackles and splashes water in Yeosang’s face without hesitation, and to Wooyoung’s pleasant surprise, the boy _laughs_ , and he even splashes back.

There are no battles. No pushing or tugging or trying to play whack-a-mole underwater. There’s the occasional teasing splash, but nothing more.

It’s the most Wooyoung has seen Yeosang smile.

Under the ethereal moon, it’s as if Wooyoung can see it all.

Yeosang slicks his long hair back and away from his face, where that beautiful mark lies, and in such magnificent light, Wooyoung can’t stop staring at it.

Mesmerized by Yeosang’s unmatched beauty, he finds himself in some sort of starstruck trance just watching Yeosang gather himself, pushing his hair back, rolling his sleeves up and spending his breaths out of water in laughter.

And that’s when Wooyoung sees.

And wishes he hadn’t.

☼

San accidentally drops his underwear in the water and declares it a lost cause because as bright as the night is, he doesn’t feel like deep diving to find something so easily replaceable. And instead of slipping on his shorts like any normal person would, he simply takes the hike back to Yunho’s place with his entire junk out while carrying his clothes in hand.

Wooyoung does end up seeing San’s dick and his mouth runs drier than the sand that sticks to the soles of their sopping wet feet.

But on the way back, walking beside Yeosang and behind San’s bare ass, Wooyoung can only focus on one thing.

Beneath the sleeves are the secrets Yeosang so desperately tries to hide.

There are so _many_. And they are so _dark._

Wooyoung steals side glances at Yeosang’s face, his hair falling in wet strands over his left eye, shielding the one thing he always tries to hide.

And down, at the sleeve that conceals his left arm and its many angry scars, circling around his forearm like the vines on San’s.

He quickly glances away, much to his dismay, but he figures that maybe not looking at Yeosang is something the boy actually wants.

One thing is certain, however.

Wooyoung looks at him in a way that Yeosang must not know. A way that he isn’t used to.

And it must be terrifying. Wooyoung understands.

☼

With Yeosang’s “curfew” being around midnight, San and Wooyoung bid him farewell and tell him that they’ll let Yunho and Mingi know he said goodbye. He says he’ll even send a text to the group chat tomorrow.

While Yunho and Mingi continue to take up residence in the lounge area, sleeping away the busy day on black leather sofas, San and Wooyoung occupy the upper landing. As it turns out, the fireplace is electric, showcasing the mere projection of dancing flames while heat blasts from the panels, but San turns it to the “no heat” option, simply providing the warm light of illusionary fire.

San helps himself to a beer from Yunho’s bar while Wooyoung munches away at some chips, the simplicity of good company and a mellow atmosphere warming up Wooyoung’s body more than a fire ever could.

And even better—the couch is a sectional, with enough room to fit six people, maybe even more, but San is sitting right next to him. Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s been this close to San apart from their time in the car, and the pandemonium of karaoke and banter had made it difficult to really _focus_ on the people beside him, but now?

Now, Wooyoung can _feel_ San, as much as he can while sitting side-by-side. He smells less like cigarettes and more like salt and citrus, probably a mixture of his signature cologne (whatever it is, Wooyoung is hooked on it) and the ocean’s memento. Their arms are touching, just barely, but the contact is enough to get Wooyoung’s heart beating with anticipation.

“Hey, Wooyoung,” San says, voice low and careful.

“Hey, San.”

San chuckles, gaze locked out the window, where brilliant moonlight illuminates the beach, painting it all shades of blue. A glazed-over expression follows, almost brooding, as his words turn somber.

“When we were with Yeosang, you saw them, right? His arm.”

Wooyoung gulps, his eyes falling to the fuzzy white carpet in front of them.

“Yeah. I saw.”

Several seconds of silence succeed, San’s face stagnant on the beach, where they’d been splashing around just moments ago. They’d been smiling. _Yeosang_ had been smiling.

“I guess that’s why he wears long sleeves all the time,” San says.

“I honestly wouldn’t have noticed, if I’m being honest. I didn’t think anything of his clothes until I saw.”

San nods in agreement. “They were so… violent. I can’t think of any other word to describe them.” He winces. “I knew someone back in high school. She cut herself too. Went around snorting coke at parties and smashing car windows because of how high she got. Her cuts were… god, she had so many. All up and down both of her arms. Different colors for different depths. And she didn’t even try to hide them.”

“I’ve never met anyone who did it,” Wooyoung says.

“I tried it once, out of curiosity,” San confesses. “Just three cuts. Used this switchblade I stole from a convenience store. Didn’t like it, and the cuts healed and didn’t even leave scars. To think…” He sighs heavily, as if his entire heart escapes him. “I can’t imagine how much pain someone must be in to do that to themselves.”

_How many times did you put a blade to your skin? How deep did you go, to try and carve out the parts of yourself that you hate? Why do you hate yourself?_

“I think… it’s his birthmark,” Wooyoung says. “He’s always trying to hide it.”

“Kids are fucking cruel.” San’s tone turns bitter, those memories spoken at the bonfire resurfacing. “I bet that’s why.”

“You think he got made fun of for some _birthmark_?”

“Kids will find anything out of the ordinary to make fun of,” San mutters spitefully. “But that shit _festers_ , Wooyoung. You get made fun of for _one_ thing and then it becomes a neverending spiral. Kids find one thing, and then another, and another, until you just see yourself in the mirror and notice all the little things everyone makes fun of you for and you start to hate everything you see. It makes me wonder… did those kids bully him for more than just his birthmark? Or was it Yeosang himself who took that one thing and made it everything?”

Either way, Wooyoung doesn’t understand. He _can’t_ understand how anybody could find it in them to torment somebody over a different pigment on their face.

And furthermore, he can’t understand how cruel the world must be to make someone like Yeosang hate himself.

“What if it was both?” Wooyoung asks timidly, his chest caving in. “What if they bullied him because of the birthmark, and then everything else…”

San sucks in his bottom lip, gaze turning to a glare.

“What if… he still does it?” Wooyoung feels sick to his stomach just asking the question. “Those cuts were _dark._ He…”

“Wooyoung.” San’s firm, gruff tone takes him aback. “We shouldn’t be speculating on this. It’s Yeosang’s battle, not ours.”

“He shouldn’t have to do it alone,” Wooyoung argues.

“I agree, but it’s not something we can control. We can’t dictate what he does or feels.”

Deep down, Wooyoung knows it’s true.

He can’t force Yeosang to look at himself and love everything he sees. He can’t make Yeosang flush out all of the poison that’s been fed to his brain. There is nothing Wooyoung can do to make Yeosang see what he does.

Two pairs of eyes for two different views.

And Wooyoung can’t slide rose-tinted glasses over the blind.

But he supposes, perhaps, that he is being a bit of a hypocrite.

☼

San, Wooyoung, and Mingi leave after breakfast the next morning. 

Well, morning is a loose term considering they’d all woken up well past 11 o’clock, strewn about Yunho’s living room. 

Mingi looks like he hadn’t moved the whole night when Yunho shakes him awake, lines creased into his face from the fabric of the cushion he’d been resting his head on. San and Wooyoung were huddled together on his other couch, fireplace still flickering with false flames. Wooyoung is roused easily enough, but it takes Yunho ripping the blanket off of San’s body to wake him.

He doesn’t know whether to regret it or not, the outline of—ahem—San Jr. is evident through his lightly colored shorts. Wooyoung only shakes his head tiredly when Yunho quirks a brow at San’s state of dress.

Their meal is a sorry assortment of leftovers and whatever Yunho could scrounge up from the depths of his fridge, but it fills their bellies all the same. Mingi gives him an enthusiastic wave, but Yunho insists on hugging them all as he walks them out. Only San resists, but only a little.

And then their car pulls out of his driveway, the front door shuts, the deadbolt slides into place, and Yunho is alone.

Even his soft breaths seem to echo in the space, bouncing off of pristine walls devoid of picture frames or mementos. 

Sand is littered on the floor, but it only takes Yunho a few moments to vacuum it up. Save for the dishes piled in the sink, there's no evidence that they were ever there to keep Yunho company. 

Yunho’s glad for yesterday. Glad they’d actually knocked at his door, and gotten in his car, and trusted him. 

He’s glad that they promised to come back. 

It wasn’t a real promise, of course. Just a short “see you later” as they walked out the door, but it means all the world to Yunho. 

_See you at Christmas_ , is what his parents usually say. Whether they actually show up is a toss up. That’s why Yunho’s learned not to hold his breath.

But Mingi, Yeosang, Wooyoung, San… they’d said they would come, and they actually did. So he believes them when they say “see you later.”

 _Everyone is afraid of_ something.

San had been right. Yunho is afraid. But he doesn’t fear things like heights, or planes, or spiders. His fear is constant, an ever-present aching that lies just beneath his skin and crawls up when he’s alone.

 _I have no fears_. 

It was a cowardly lie. 

_My fear, San, is that one day the four of you will walk out of my door, and never come back._

☼

> _Yunho took us all cliff jumping yesterday. San is afraid of heights. We all held hands on the way down. It has been so long since I screamed, and it seems as if I have lost the ability to._
> 
> _I overheard San and Wooyoung talking that night. Apparently Yeosang cuts himself. I hope it was just a dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, do feel free to leave a kudos/comment, we’d love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
> shan: [twitter](https://twitter.com/useumssi) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/useumssiiii)


	4. New Heights and Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should wear what makes you feel good, what makes you feel most like yourself.” San’s finger comes up Wooyoung’s chin, a gentle nudge so that Wooyoung is forced to look up at him. “You should wear what makes you feel beautiful.”
> 
> The look in San’s eyes… it’s genuine. It’s kind. 
> 
> _You’re perfect,_ it says. Wooyoung wants to believe it someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Things are gonna get a little more interesting from here on out ;D  
> Thank you so much for all your lovely kudos and comments! We're so grateful for each and every one of you. Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> A minor warning for self-esteem issues due to toxic masculinity/gender norms!

Wooyoung is aware of the fact that Mingi is his own individual and therefore doesn’t have to disclose everything that goes on in his life, but Mingi did not mention that Yunho is a hunky lifeguard, and one at the public beach right by their house, at that. One minute, he’s sprawled out on his beach towel wearing Mingi’s neon shades, eyes blissfully closed as he absorbs that sweet vitamin D, and the next, he’s hearing, “Hey, Wooyoung!”

He squints, lowering the sunglasses to see Yunho jogging up to him, clad in those typical lifeguard low-hanging red swim shorts. “Holy shit, what are you doing here?” Wooyoung exclaims, sitting up.

“I work here, dummy! Did Mingi not tell you?”

“No! Dude, what the hell?”

“What?”

“You’re a lifeguard.”

“Yeah. And?”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing without even really knowing why. “It’s just so fucking fitting for you, man. I don’t know.”

Yunho flips his hair and grins, the sun bouncing off of his perfectly tanned skin and giving him the appearance of some kind of _god._

_How are you fucking real?_

“So what brings you here? Getting a tan in?” Yunho asks.

“Sure, I guess,” Wooyoung says. “I don’t know, I was kind of bored just sitting at home so I figured I’d photosynthesize.”

Yunho nods approvingly. “I like it. What about Mingi?”

“At home. Sleeping.”

“San? Yeosang?”

Wooyoung shrugs. Yunho frowns and nudges his side. “What’s up with you and San by the way?” he asks, sitting himself down on the edge of Wooyoung’s towel, a nosy smirk easily replacing his frown.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung mumbles, sliding the shades back over his eyes, hoping it’ll block out all further questions.

“Oh, don’t give me that! I know you two got a little something something going on.” Yunho waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I see _everything_ , Wooyoungie. And I know San’s interested too.”

Wooyoung scoffs and rolls onto his side, facing away from Yunho. Out of sight, out of mind. But it’s Yunho, of course, and Yunho is taller and more muscular and easily rolls Wooyoung back over and even pins his wrists above his head. “So? When are you gonna make your move?” Yunho asks.

Somehow, Yunho also managed to straddle Wooyoung’s torso without him even noticing, which certainly doesn’t help his situation. Wooyoung swallows a heavy dry lump as Yunho eyes him down, awaiting an answer, but how the fuck can he come up with a cohesive answer when there’s an entire Yunho, sunkissed lifeguard _god_ , _sitting on him_?

“Can’t make a move if you suffocate me, bastard,” Wooyoung wheezes. Smooth enough.

Yunho snickers and gets off him, settling back down on Wooyoung’s towel. “Look, I barely know the guy—”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Yunho interjects, rolling his eyes playfully. “It’s not like you two are going to elope and ride off into the sunset together. Just, y’know, have a bit of fun while you’re both here!”

Wooyoung can’t help but chuckle at that. Surely enough, they’re here for a good time, not a long time, as cliché as it may sound.

_But as for what’s stopping him from making a move?_

“Maybe,” Wooyoung says.

“Well, if you need a wingman, you know where to find me. Seriously, I’m either here or at home. Feel free to invade my personal space anytime. Oh, and by the way, I’ll have you know that San Jr. looks _quite_ impressive.”

Wooyoung chokes on air as Yunho just springs up and happily skips away, kicking up sand behind him. He coughs and turns away as he waits for the sand to fall back down, but even then, he ends up sitting up again, leaning forward enough to shield Wooyoung Jr. from the sun and innocent beachgoers.

He sits there and thinks.

 _What_ is _stopping me from making a move?_

He feels like he might know the answer, but unlike San, he might not be ready to face it yet.

☼

Yeosang hasn’t been back to the thinking place since that day he’d first met Yunho and Mingi. He didn’t have to. There was barely any time _to_ think between all the invitations, and text messages, and bonfires, and cliff diving, and skinny dipping.

This is the first time Yeosang’s been well and truly alone in almost three weeks. 

Now, if someone had asked three-weeks-ago-Yeosang how he felt about being alone, he would’ve said that he’s fine, that he’s used to it. He would’ve had his tin of pencils and a fresh, blank canvas as companions, and he would’ve been okay.

But today, Yeosang finds himself missing Mingi’s silent presence and Yunho’s animated, well, everything. He’s only met San and Wooyoung a handful of times, but he misses them, too. Neither of them are quite what Yeosang expected, but he thinks it’s a good thing.

His companions from before had lain pretty much untouched for the past weeks, though he carried them everywhere. A couple of strokes here, some shading there, but nothing of substance was transferred from Yeosang’s pencil to his paper in at least three weeks. 

His last drawing was of a lighthouse, standing alone on a patch of land. The guiding light, the one that called ships into its bay, lays dormant, dead. 

A lonely tower standing on a barren island, broken from disuse.

But today Yeosang draws, and draws, and draws. Most of his dark pencils lay blunt in his tin, wooden shavings scattering with the wind as the picture takes shape.

A gentle ocean with playful waves. A small beach with a picnic laid out. A cliff in the back, the path up to it leaden with swaying trees. 

And by the edge of the cliff, five sparrows taking flight.

☼

**YUNHO AND DA BOIS**

**[Yunho]**

_hey guys i need condoms_

**[San]**

_ty for sharing that with the class_

**[Yunho]**

_no prob_

_i also need lube_

**[Wooyoung]**

_we get it, you have sex_

**[Yeosang]**

_Uhhh, good to know?_

**[Yunho]**

_ashjskd;ak_

_you guys r missing the point!_

**[Mingi]**

_theres a point to this??_

**[San]**

_debatable_

**[Yunho]**

_you guys suck :(_

_BUTTTT_

_the point is_

**[Wooyoung]**

_oh thank god FINALLY_

**[Yunho]**

_fuck you too >.> _

_ANYWAYS! i need to go to the mall!!!!_

_and you guys will be joining meh_

**[Wooyoung]**

_SHOPPING!!!_

**[Mingi]**

_lord help me_

**[San]**

_do i have a choice in this?_

**[Yunho]**

_nope <3 _

**[Yeosang]**

_But why do you need to go to the mall for condoms? Can’t you just go to the pharmacy or something?_

**[Yunho]**

_pharmacies dont have glow in the dark ones_

**[Yeosang]**

_THERE ARE GLOW IN THE DARK CONDOMS????_

Wooyoung smiles as he tosses his phone aside, already giddy. Mingi is in the bed next to him, and when he looks up, he can see Mingi’s unamused glare from beneath mussed hair. 

_‘they dont know what they’re in for, shopping with you’,_ reads his whiteboard.

“Oh, shut up. I’m not _that_ bad,” Wooyoung argues.

_‘remember that time we went shopping for prom?’_

“Okay, that was different!”

 _‘we shopped for 5 hours and left with a_ **_TIE_** _’_

“It was a really good tie, though.”

☼

Yunho picks them all up one by one. Wooyoung and Mingi are his first stop, and Wooyoung can’t stop himself from practically skipping to the car. Mingi gets in the front seat looking dejected, but Wooyoung can’t bring himself to care. 

Yeosang is next, and his parents wave them off from his front porch. He’s wearing a beanie today, Wooyoung notices. Little strands of hair poke out from under the thick material, but when he looks closer, all he sees is clear, dewy skin beneath. No red birthmark. Nothing to indicate that it had ever been there in the first place. 

San is last, waiting in the lobby of his hotel. He looks good, hair slicked back under a baseball cap and jeans fitting tighter than probably necessary. Wooyoung’s mouth goes dry, and a mix of his and Yunho’s voices rings in his ears. 

_What’s stopping you?_

San slides in next to Wooyoung, who’s been forced into the uncomfortable, lumpy middle seat. Almost immediately the scent of San envelopes him, a heady fragrance that makes him dizzy. It doesn’t linger long, though. Yunho rolls down all the windows and takes off, wind blasting in and filling the car with a salty sea breeze. 

The little buildings of the town fall away as they merge onto that same road that brought him and Mingi here.

Not much has changed since then, but everything has. The road remains the same as the day they arrived, but it’s no longer Wooyoung and Mingi traveling it alone. They have Yunho, and Yeosang, and San. And it makes a world of a difference.

Yunho reaches the roundabout and whirls around it, following bright green signs that point the way to the shopping center with great, white arrows. It becomes more city-like and less beachy as they drive. 

It begins to remind Wooyoung of home.

He finds he doesn’t miss it much.

☼

By some stroke of luck, the mall isn’t very crowded, and Wooyoung is _very_ pleased. He’s never been to a mall quite like this one either. It’s a maze of stores, all outside rather than in one gargantuan building like he’s used to. Instead of a solid roof, there are canopies hanging high. It provides shelter from the sun, at least, but the rest of the elements are free to explore the mall as they please.

The first stop is, of course, for Yunho’s condoms and lube. Yeosang seems a little more than interested in these glow in the dark condoms, quickly following Yunho into the dimly lit store. 

The wave of cool air is welcome as the three of them trail behind. San immediately wanders off to look at some piercings, so he and Mingi are left standing there, admittedly a bit lost. 

It’s an odd store, and definitely not the type of place Wooyoung would ever wander into on his own. T-shirts with explicit images are tacked up on walls along with shelves of what look like… _bongs?_

Yunho’s voice carries over from the back of the store, so he and Mingi follow it, passing more _interesting_ memorabilia. The back of the store is separated from the front by a beaded curtain, and when they pass through, Wooyoung’s mouth drops open. 

The back wall is lined with harnesses, and sexy costumes, and a surprising variety of dildos. Accessories like handcuffs and cute little headbands hang from racks scattered throughout the floor. Yunho and Yeosang stand at one, concentrated on whatever Yunho is holding in his hands.

Wooyoung can hear Mingi audibly gulp next to him, and Wooyoung can sympathize. He definitely has a bit more experience than Mingi in the arena of sex, but all of this is overwhelming even for him. 

They shuffle over to Yunho, who turns around when he hears them approach, holding out a box of _something_.

It’s huge, almost as big as Yunho’s hand, and stamped right across the top in capital letters is: CONDOMS. Right below it in colorful writing, Wooyoung reads the words “party pack”.

_A party pack of condoms?!_

There’s a list squeezed into the corner of the box, and Wooyoung’s mouth drops open in a scandalized ‘O’ as he reads it.

 _Glow in the dark, rainbow colors, ribbed, flavored, studded, ultra-thin, extra lubricated_.

“I think this is a pretty good deal,” Yunho shrugs.

_‘why do you need EDIBLE condoms?’_

“To redefine the phrase ‘eat a dick.’” Yunho says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I got my lube too, so we’re good to go.” 

Yunho isn’t holding any bottles, Wooyoung notices, but Yeosang is cradling something in his arms.

_Another goddamn party pack._

Wooyoung counts at least ten small bottles lined in two rows.

 _Regular, cotton candy, blue raspberry, watermelon, strawberry._

He doesn’t even want to _imagine_ what sort of flavors are printed on the other labels.

San is finishing up paying for something when they emerge from the beaded curtain. When he sees the enormous box of condoms, San’s face immediately lights up in amusement, dimples appearing as he raises his hand for a high five. Yunho gladly gives it to him, even shooting finger guns and throwing him a suggestive wink.

The bag the cashier hands to San is tiny. So tiny that it slides right into his pockets, hiding it from view. 

The man behind the counter greets Yunho like an old friend, and Wooyoung isn’t the least bit surprised if he’s being honest. He’s rung up quickly, and they’re out in the humid heat in no time.

“Okay guys, where to next?” Yunho asks, his two packages now safely tucked in a bag.

“Uh, I don’t know. This was your idea,” Wooyoung says.

“That’s such a shit response, dude. It’s a _mall_. You know, for shopping? Buy whatever you want, I’m not going to be the one leading you guys everywhere. You guys can split up, too. I, for one, am going to sniff candles for the next half hour.”

“I actually quite like this store,” San says, glancing up at the sign above them. “Might just hang out in here.”

“Mingi, wanna sniff candles with me?” Yunho asks.

_‘sure’_

“I think I’m good on sniffing candles,” Wooyoung says, chuckling. “I don’t know, I’ll just walk around for a bit.”

“As much as this store frightens me, it also intrigues me,” Yeosang comments, also glancing back. “San, mind if I stick with you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Perfect!” Yunho lets the bag fall on his wrist as he claps. “So, in about an hour, I’ll text the group chat to make sure you guys aren’t dead. Sound good?”

The four of them nod and part ways just like that—Mingi trailing behind Yunho and Yeosang following San back into the store they were just in. Wooyoung is left at the entrance, looking left and right, not knowing where to go from there.

He does what he said he’d do. Walk around. He travels in the opposite direction of Mingi and Yunho, surveying the stores on either side of him in search of anything that catches his eye.

And what ultimately catches his eye is a store with bright pink panels and sleek black floors.

_If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m here for my girlfriend._

Inhaling deeply, Wooyoung walks in.

He’s greeted by one of the employees, who smiles at him with sparkling white teeth and tells him to let her know if he has any questions. And the thing is, Wooyoung _does_ have a lot of questions, but none that he would ask a stranger who would probably ask him something along the lines of, “Who is it for?”

Wooyoung keeps his eyes straight ahead of him. Doesn’t turn, doesn’t look left or right. He walks and keeps his eyes on whatever’s in front of him, and he ends up facing a top half mannequin raised upon a display table, donned in a milky pink satin robe with black lace around the cuffs.

Taking the fabric between his fingers, his tongue pokes into the side of his cheek, feeling something queasy stirring in his chest.

It’s so _soft._ Glossy and smooth. Something that Wooyoung has never had the pleasure of wearing, at least, for more than a few minutes.

But he never once forgot the feeling of it.

 _“Please don’t tell my mom,”_ was what he would say.

And the boy who doesn’t speak, never did.

☼

There are only so many candles one can sniff before they all start to smell the same. How Yunho can keep it up for a half-hour is beyond Mingi’s comprehension. He tells Yunho that he’ll be somewhere else because his olfactory senses don’t seem to be as keen, to which Yunho just laughs and tells him to text him if he needs anything.

Wandering around on his own is oddly liberating. He can’t remember the last time he’s been to a mall—probably when he was still in the single digits. And now, he doesn’t have to hold anybody’s hand and he has his own money that he can spend on whatever he wants.

The thing is, he doesn’t really _want_ anything, not particularly. So he figures that the next best thing is to spend his money on what _others_ would want.

And four stores and one giant bag later, he has what he thinks would be the perfect gifts for the perfect little group of friends.

Actual friends. Not the little doodles on the margins of his pages or the characters in the storybooks. Living, breathing people.

He flips to a blank page and writes, _‘Thank you for not asking me if I was sure when I said I wanted to go,’_ and tears it out, folding it into fourths and shoving it in his pocket.

As he browses the stores, he thinks about where the others would be, playing a guessing game in his head. He thinks back to when the school taught him that a hypothesis was “an educated guess,” in the simplest terms, so he hypothesizes that San is either still at the store from before or somewhere that sells band T-shirts or more piercings. Yeosang would be somewhere where there are art supplies. If Yunho is no longer at that candle shop, he would be somewhere that has things for people with exceptional athletic capabilities.

And Wooyoung?

He stares at the directory. Wooyoung could be anywhere. But Mingi thinks, _Wooyoung has freedom here_ , and hypothesizes that he is at one of two places.

His “educated guess” turns out to be right.

He finds Wooyoung towards the back of one of his guesses, staring at overpriced eyeshadow palettes.

“Jesus, Mingi! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he whisper-shouts as Mingi appears beside him.

Mingi frowns and writes, _‘it’s kind of impossible for me to not.’_

“At least tap me on the shoulder or something,” Wooyoung mutters. He bites his lip and glances over Mingi’s shoulder, craning his neck to do so.

_‘hey are you ok?’_

“I’m fine. We can go now.” Wooyoung attempts to sidestep Mingi, who slides over just to block him. “What?”

 _‘it’s_ **_OK_ ** _Wooyoung, you know it’s ok around me.’_

Wooyoung’s face tenses, his eyes squeezing shut. He’d looked like that before, too, when Mingi found him for the first time. Except his eyes were painted a sparkly blue and lined with black and there were tears welling up in them, and he’d stormed up to Mingi, grabbed his shoulders, and begged him not to tell his mother.

Mingi hasn’t seen Wooyoung cry since.

“I’m _fine_ , and we can go now,” Wooyoung repeats, firmer this time, maybe even a bit aggressive.

But as the two of them turn around, they stop in their tracks as a familiar face wanders in.

Yeosang, appearing determined, like he _knows_ what he’s here for, makes a beeline straight for one of the aisles near the front, briefly browsing one of the shelves before plucking whatever he needs off of it. He pays, and he’s out in a matter of what feels like seconds.

The two stand there, astonished, and they stare at each other knowingly for a few moments before they decide to leave.

Mingi clicks open his pen again, and below his message for Wooyoung, he writes one for Yeosang.

_‘It’s okay, Yeosang. It’s okay around us.’_

He tears it out as he follows Wooyoung out of the store, folds it in quarters, and pockets it.

☼

True to his word, Yunho messages their group chat an hour later on the dot, a shrill _ding_ sounding from Wooyoung’s pocket. The slight tremor in his hands still hasn't worn off from when Mingi caught him in the makeup store.

 _Caught._ Like it was wrong for him to be there. Mingi assured him it wasn’t, that he was _okay,_ but every single time, Wooyoung is sent back to that time. The first time, when his whole world came crashing down. The fear inside him then is alive and well even now, still gnawing at his ribs and churning in the depths of his belly. 

But then Yeosang walked in as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if he belonged there. Everyone else in the store seemed to think so, too, not even sparing the man a second glance. 

It makes Wooyoung’s heart ache in longing.

_I don’t want to get caught. I want to belong._

Yunho’s garbled message tells them to meet up in front of a store that Wooyoung has never heard of, and it takes several minutes of staring at the mall directory with Mingi to discern where exactly Yunho wants them to come.

Several wrong turns later, they find the store, the others already gathered in front of it. Yunho holds another bag now, the bright checkered design a stark contrast to the dark bag that’s holding his excessively large box of condoms and copious amount of lube. It clinks gently, and when Wooyoung peeks inside, he sees three huge candles sitting at the bottom of it. 

“What? They were on sale,” is his explanation.

Yeosang is also holding a bag, the same one from the makeup store. It swings on his wrist like a pendulum and Wooyoung finds himself hypnotized. He wonders what Yeosang bought, what forbidden treasure lies at the bottom of the little bag.

The store Yunho ushers them into is _huge_. It feels as though it sprawls on for miles, racks upon racks of clothing scattered about. There’s something for everyone here, from dark ripped jeans and band shirts for San, to obnoxiously colored hawaiian shirts for Mingi. Yunho’s already plucked a pair of shades from a shelf and slid them onto his nose. This pair is a glaring neon yellow. 

Mingi approves (no one else does).

Wooyoung meanders through the sea of clothes, allowing his fingers to brush over denim, and cotton, and polyester. None of these clothes slip through his fingers the way that pink robe had. None of them would feel as soft on his skin as the cotton candy colored silk. 

Eventually Wooyoung comes to a stop. He stands at a boundary, one that he yearns to cross but fears to. The line, of course, is invisible to everyone but him, but still he stands, toeing it, but never daring to step over. 

The women’s section is far more substantial, a meadow of soft pastels and flowy lace. The men’s side seems like meager pickings in comparison. 

There’s a mannequin, standing off to the side, modeling the most beautiful shirt Wooyoung’s ever seen in his life. It’s deep black and cropped, the hem landing mid-torso and cinched in. The neckline is off the shoulder, and the sleeves billow out in a cloud of mesh, flower details littering the nearly-transparent material. 

It looks elegant, and sexy. It’s simple, yet so beautiful. And it’s so _far away_.

“Hmm, that would look good on you.”

Wooyoung jumps, and San laughs. He’s standing right next to him, but Wooyoung hadn’t even heard the heavy footfalls of his boots, too trapped in his reverie of the silky black shirt.

“W-what?” His heart is in his throat, the shaking in his hands back tenfold.

“I said it would look good on you,” San repeats, a fond smile gracing his face. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wooyoung feels dizzy. He feels _small_. 

He feels like a child, caught playing dress-up.

San hums. And with a single step, he crosses the line. 

Wooyoung closes his eyes, tense. He doesn’t know what to expect. Will the earth shatter, split by the invisible line between here and there? Will there be screaming and jeering? Mocking calls of _“you don’t belong”_? Wooyoung doesn’t know. And he never intended to find out.

What he doesn’t expect though, the soft press of silk and mesh against his chest and bare arms. 

San holds the shirt, this one dangling from a hanger, in front of Wooyoung. 

“Oh yeah, this would look absolutely _killer_ on you.”

“I can’t wear this.” Wooyoung pushes the hanger back towards San, but his eyes never stop lingering on the scrap of cloth. He does his best to look indignant, indifferent. 

“And why not?”

“Because it’s for _girls_.”

San barks a laugh at that. 

“What?” Wooyoung demands, taken aback. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m laughing ‘cause you’re being silly.”

“And how, exactly, am I being silly?”

“Because you think what you can wear is defined by what’s between your legs.”

Wooyoung recoils. When San says it, it definitely does seem silly. But it’s not like he can help it, though.

This rhetoric, it’s been drilled into him since he was old enough to understand words.

_Men should be strong. Men shouldn’t show emotion. And men definitely do not wear pretty, flowery things made of the softest silk._

Hell, Wooyoung’s parents don’t know that he likes boys, let alone that he likes the idea of makeup, and dresses, and everything that is decidedly _not_ masculine. 

“What would people think?”

_What would my parents think?_

“It’s the twenty-first century, Wooyoung,” San says. It’s soft, but firm. Like he _knows_. “People—most people, anyway—don’t care.”

Wooyoung looks away. He can’t bear to look at San’s face, because he knows that if he does, San will see _everything_.

The pain, the conflict, the longing, the confusion. The little boy, caged in by values that aren’t his own, too afraid to cross the line.

“You should wear what makes you feel good, what makes you feel most like yourself.” San’s finger comes up Wooyoung’s chin, a gentle nudge so that Wooyoung is forced to look up at him. “You should wear what makes you feel beautiful.”

The look in San’s eyes… it’s genuine. It’s kind. 

_You’re perfect_ , it says. Wooyoung wants to believe it someday. 

“It doesn’t have to be today,” San says, letting his hand drop from Wooyoung’s face. It feels cold all of a sudden. San moves back and hangs the shirt where he found it. When he comes back, both hands cup Wooyoung’s face this time.

Wooyoung isn’t just warm now. He’s _blazing_.

“It doesn’t have to be today, but you deserve to have it someday.”

☼

Mingi watches San hold Wooyoung’s face, the tears evident in his best friend’s eyes. San is whispering, and Wooyoung is trembling. 

He flips open his notebook, a fresh page.

_‘Thank you for saying everything that I couldn’t.’_

He tears it out and folds it away.

☼

It’s nearly dark when Yunho pulls into his driveway, shadows settling in nooks and crannies as the sun turns in for the night. They’re all exhausted from walking around, hopping from store to store. There’s a substantial number of shopping bags crammed in the trunk of the car, and Wooyoung wonders how they managed to even carry it all back to the parking lot. 

On top of all that, Yunho insisted they try a bit of everything from the food trucks lined up at the outskirts of the shopping center. 

So here they are, back where they began, bellies a whole lot fuller and wallets a whole lot lighter. 

They collapse on the beanbags and couches, bags scattered on the floor. Wooyoung folds himself into that little egg-shaped chair suspended from the ceiling, fatigue hitting him all at once.

But Yunho, of course, is still bouncing away, excited about god-knows-what. 

“Hey guys!”

“What?” San groans from where he’s laying face-down on a couch. Wooyoung stares at him, stretched out against the dark leather. He can’t stop feeling San’s finger against the soft flesh of his cheek, how close his face had been. The shape of San’s lips as he whispered exactly what Wooyoung needed to hear is burned into his memory, a brand that might never disappear.

Yunho claps, loud and echoing throughout his home.

“Let’s do a haul!”

“A what?” Yeosang asks. He’s burrowed into a beanbag, beanie in his hands as he runs a hand through his fluffy blond locks. 

“A haul! Seriously, Yeosang do you live under a rock?”

“Pretty much.”

Yunho sighs. “I wanna see what everyone bought today!”

“Why?” Wooyoung questions. “You were there for most of it.”

“Damn, you guys seriously know how to suck the fun outta everything,” Yunho grumbles.

He flings his large body onto a too-small beanbag, his head and most of his legs flopping over the edge, unsupported.

It’s comical to look at, and Wooyoung has to bite his bottom lip to keep from smiling. 

San flips over onto his back, an eyebrow cocked at Yunho’s dramatics. Then he sighs.

“Ugh, fine. You go first.”

Yunho sits up so quickly that Wooyoung wouldn't be surprised if he has whiplash. His grin is blinding and telling. As if he knew they were going to give in before the words even fell from San’s lips.

_Cheeky bastard._

He launches himself to his feet and collects his bags, starting off his haul with a bad youtuber impression.

“Hey guys and welcome _back_ to my channel.”

Mingi begins to do his quiet laugh, and even Yeosang grins. San turns on his side, head propped up on his fist. He thinks San is focused on Yunho, but when he looks over, San is staring at him, shameless. 

Wooyoung can feel the blush creep up the back of his neck, and he turns away from San before it can coat his cheeks. 

Yunho’s haul consists of the insane amount of condoms and lube he’d picked up at that first store, three candles that smelled of blueberry and roses and something earthy, as well as that garish pair of neon yellow sunglasses. 

_‘we’re starting a collection,’_ Mingi writes as he slides a matching bright blue pair onto the bridge of his nose. Yunho winks at him over the top of the frames before continuing to pull things from his bags. 

He looks away too quickly. Yunho doesn’t see the way Mingi’s ears become red at the very tips, or the way his face flushes a light pink. But Wooyoung does, and it makes him smile. 

Yunho finishes his haul with a flourish and a bow, a pile of new clothes discarded at his feet. Yeosang claps for him, and Yunho seems extra pleased, dropping into a mock curtsey just for Yeosang. 

“You next, Yeosang.”

He seems taken aback, but rises to his feet anyway.

“Hey guys, welcome back to my channel.”

San laughs out loud at Yeosang’s terrible impression of Yunho, but Yunho is delighted, clapping for him, encouraging. 

A grin splits Yeosang’s face as he reaches into the smallest bag—the one from the makeup store, Wooyoung recognizes. It’s a thin tube of liquid that looks like Yeosang’s skin in a bottle. 

Yeosang holds it out for them to see, splaying his free hand behind the small tube the way beauty youtubers do when they’re trying to get the camera to focus.

Wooyoung begins to giggle, high-pitched and squeaky. The others laugh too, and Yeosang looks elated that his joke landed. He lets out a soft giggle himself and Wooyoung finds it incredibly endearing.

_How are you so cute?_

There isn’t much more to Yeosang’s haul—just a couple of shirts (all long sleeves), a pair of socks with some anime character on them, and a few new black pencils.

Wooyoung goes next, pulling out some shorts and a t-shirt or two from his bag. He wishes that they were the pretty black shirt, the one San said would look good. He left that behind at the store, but he has a feeling the soft material and delicate sleeves won’t be leaving his mind anytime soon. 

San stands up. He has nothing to show for the trip save for that tiny bag he’d slipped into his pocket in the first store. Now he takes it out and removes a small package from the bag. The rest of them lean forward, squinting to see what’s inside.

It’s a barbell piercing, the two balls on each end decorated with a swirl of color.

“Isn’t that a bit too small for your industrial?” Yunho asks.

San smiles. “This isn’t for my industrial.”

“Then where…”

Yunho doesn’t even have to finish his sentence before San parts his lips, tongue sliding out between them. There, nestled dead center, is a black ball.

San’s tongue is pierced.

_San’s tongue is pierced._

Wooyoung’s mouth goes dry as he stares unabashedly. Just when he thought San couldn’t get any hotter…

“Damnnnn,” Yunho drawls. “That’s actually kinda sexy.”

“Glad you think so,” San winks back.

San’s tongue is very much back in his mouth, but Wooyoung can’t stop looking at his lips. All this time he’s known San, _talked_ to San, and he never noticed.

 _I wonder what else you’re hiding_.

Mingi goes last. There’s a large bag by his feet, but he only pulls one small item from it, hidden in paper packaging.

_‘the rest is a surprise ;)’_

“Oh c’mon, that’s no fair!” Yunho argues, albeit weakly. 

Mingi only shrugs, smiling.

Instead of opening the package, he pads forward, stepping over stray bags and Yunho’s large pile of clothing. When he gets to Yeosang, he squats down and holds the package out to him.

Yeosang’s eyes widen, surprised.

“F-for me?”

Mingi nods, but Yeosang still doesn’t reach for it.

“Are you sure?”

Mingi’s eyes crinkle with a smile.

_‘100%’_

Slowly, Yeosang takes the package.

“Thank you.” The words come out soft as he holds the crinkly brown paper in his palm. As if Yeosang doesn’t know what to do with himself or the gift.

Then Wooyoung remembers the lines. The long ones and the short, the deep ones that spoke of pain, and the jagged ones from when the pain probably became too much.

And it makes Wooyoung’s heart squeeze in his chest.

_This may be the first gift Yeosang’s ever received._

He squirms as he unwraps it, all eyes on him. A plastic package falls into his lap and he picks it up, freezing as he realizes what it is.

They’re pencils. Ones for drawing. The same as what Yeosang always carries around in his little tin.

Except these ones bloom with color.

Flaming orange and forest green lined up next to a blue that only appears in the night sky. There’s a reddish-pink that reminds Wooyoung so much of Yeosang’s birthmark, and a black so dark it may as well be the ink sitting in San’s skin.

An entire rainbow, sitting in the palm of Yeosang’s hand.

_‘Do you like it?’_

“I… I love it.” Yeosang’s eyes are welling up with tears, and he bites his bottom lip, fighting to stop them from spilling over. “Thank you.” It’s a whisper of a breath, but it says everything he means.

_Thank you for bringing color back into my life._

Mingi sighs in relief, shoulders sagging.

_‘it was my pleasure :D’_

Yunho claps as Mingi goes to collect his bag. The sound is loud, ringing in Wooyoung’s ears.

“Okay, our next order of business.”

Yunho reaches into this back pocket, but something is _off_. Maybe it's the way his fingers fumble when they're usually sure and strong. Or perhaps it's the unsure crease of his brow, the little frown between his eyebrows mirrored on his mouth.

He pulls his wallet out, and from inside draws five, bright yellow slips of paper.

Yunho clears his throat and the frown disappears. The tickets hold steady in fingers that were trembling not a moment ago.

“I got us these!” he announces, holding them.

San leans forward and squints. “What’s that for?”

Yunho clears his throat again.

 _He’s nervous,_ Wooyoung thinks.

“There’s a carnival coming to town in a couple of days, and I thought I’d buy us all tickets. It’ll be super fun! There are games, and rides, and a huge Ferris wheel that literally—”

“Okay,” San says, leaning back in his seat. “I’m down.”

“You are?” Yunho looks surprised.

“Mhmm, sounds fun.”

“Oh, okay… great! Wooyoung and Mingi?”

_He’s still nervous._

“I’ve always wanted to go to one, so yeah, let’s do it.”

_‘fuck yeah, sounds lit’_

“Perfect. Yeosang?”

Yeosang is still sitting on his beanbag, the little package of pencils clutched to his chest. He looks up at Yunho with wide, crystalline eyes.

“Yeah, I’m free.”

Yunho lets out a breath.

One that Wooyoung thinks he didn’t even know he was holding. Yunho wasn’t nervous about asking, Wooyoung realizes.

_He was nervous that we would say no._

“I’ll pick you guys up so we can get there early and wait in line, I wanna try everything!” he says in the rush of breath.

“How early are we talking?” San asks.

“Like, meh, half an hour?”

“What?!” San exclaims. “Dude, why?”

Yunho’s face falls a bit at that, and Wooyoung has a feeling that’s exactly why he wants to go so early.

“It’s fine by me,” Wooyoung interjects. “I get it, wanting to show up earlier than everyone else. We only have one night to experience it, after all.”

Yunho shoots him a grateful look, running a hand through his hair. 

“I mean… it’s not just that,” he starts. It seems difficult, finding the right words, but they wait patiently. 

“A long time ago... I was like, eight. There was this carnival. All of the kids at school were going. My parents said they’d get tickets and we’d all go together. I kept bugging them about it ‘cause I was so excited to go, you know? But they told me to stop or else I wouldn’t be able to go. So I stopped. And... they never got the tickets. And I never said anything because I didn’t want to get yelled at again. The carnival up and left. So... yeah. I just don’t want to miss it for the second time in my life.”

Wooyoung’s breath stutters in his chest. Seeing Yunho living all alone in this big house was one thing. He’s an adult, and thought it must be incredibly lonely, he still gets to make his own decisions and go where he pleases. But as a child…

It tears at his heart to think of Yunho, so small and innocent, staring up all starry-eyed at his parents, doing his best to be good, only to be let down and left alone. A child who didn’t know what he did wrong but bore the punishment anyway.

A child that has grown into a man, but still sees the world through that star-speckled filter.

_How could you bear it?_

San huffs a sigh. “Well, if it really means that much to you then _fine._ ” He says it with a smile so Yunho knows he was never _really_ annoyed, and Yunho beams back.

“Perfect! I’ll text you guys the details later.”

And that’s that.

☼

The rest of the night is more of a jumbled, incoherent mess than anything else.

They get take-out, and it takes at least an hour to even decide where to order from. Yunho puts on a scary movie that results in a lot of screaming on Wooyoung’s part (the rest of them laugh at him). When a particularly scary scene comes on, he moves closer to San, but he doesn’t notice until his body has stopped shaking and he can feel San’s arm against his. San doesn’t move away.

For dessert, Yunho foregos the ice cream in his freezer, opting to open his party pack of lube instead.

“Let’s decide which flavor is best!”

Mingi and Yeosang go hunt for the ice cream.

Yunho picks cotton candy as the tastiest, but Wooyoung thinks it’s blue raspberry. Sweet and tangy, he finds himself craving more.

San sucks the liquid off his fingers slowly, eyes hooded. It sends a flare of heat right through Wooyoung, and he wonders what the ball of San’s piercing must feel like against skin.

“So, which one is better?” Yunho asks.

San looks at Wooyoung when he answers.

“Definitely the blue raspberry.”

☼

Wooyoung has never been to a carnival before. According to San, he’s been to one, but only to hang around the corners and smoke and watch people. Apparently, he’d caught these two teenagers sneaking into a barn. What exactly they did in there, San doesn’t know. But they came out later an hour later, the guy was still in the process of redressing himself, and the girl’s hair stood out in all directions. “I feel like they did more than just that, though,” San had said. “They looked high on _something_.”

The carnival is about half an hour away, on a boardwalk right by the ocean. According to Yunho, the location is used for craft fairs more than anything, and this is the first time a carnival has come through here. He hops out of the car and slams the door behind him, bounding towards the entryway slash ticket booth with little regard for the four following him.

He looks like a hyperactive bunny bouncing on its feet, Wooyoung thinks, but it makes him smile nonetheless.

The carnival is exactly how Wooyoung imagined one would look like. From grand rides and food stalls to toy-filled game booths and colorful miscellaneous tents home to who-knows-what, Wooyoung takes a few seconds just to absorb it all. He hadn’t been as excited as Yunho, but the atmosphere is _breathtaking_.

And the glorious aroma of greasy fried goodness beckons him.

“Now now, the first thing to do is rides,” Yunho says. “Because if you eat first, you risk losing it. Simple carnival etiquette.”

Yunho’s first destination is a massive pendulum, where a giant boat-shaped compartment swings back and forth. San audibly gulps as they crane their necks up just to look at it swinging, the screams of carnival-goers loud and clear in their eardrums.

“I’m gonna die on that thing,” he groans, genuine terror filling his voice.

“You don’t have to go on it,” Yunho says with a shrug, already placing himself in the line.

“Y-yeah, I think I’ll sit this one out.” San steps out, standing behind the railings set in place to organize the line of people. “And maybe all of the rides that involve heights and fast moving.”

 _‘I’ll stay with him,’_ Mingi writes.

“Alright!” Yunho says, ushering Wooyoung and Yeosang to join him.

At his behest, they sit at the very back end because “that’s where all the thrill is,” and as the gates raise and the boat starts swinging, Wooyoung feels the nerves catch up to him.

It builds and builds, the momentum stronger each time it swings, until Wooyoung can’t stop the screams from escaping him. It’s as if gravity shifts around him, the wind pulsing back and forth, back and forth, tossing his hair in all directions, stinging against his face. Yunho is cheering beside him, hands up to the sky, his face alight in pure joy and excitement.

Yeosang is laughing too, clutching the metal bar that holds them all in place. His eyes are screwed shut, mouth wide open in laughs and screams. Meanwhile, Wooyoung is all screams.

But he’s ecstatic. Far from terrified.

He’s panting as they get off, hunching over with his hands on his knees.

And then he starts laughing.

“Holy shit. San, you really would’ve died on that thing.”

San chuckles and pats him on the back. “Yeah. That’s good to know.”

“Next ride!” Yunho announces. He scurries off and the rest of them follow, though Wooyoung’s wobbly knees require some extra support from San.

On the way to whatever ride Yunho has in mind, they see a stout man with his face painted white and eyes painted black walking around on stilts, the equivalent of two Yunhos stacked on top of each other, and Wooyoung gapes in amazement.

“Why is everything here so fucking high, and not in the good way?” San grumbles.

As it turns out, San is just about right. Every ride that Yunho takes them on involves height to some degree, and the only one San ends up going on is a swing ride that spins them around in gentle circles about fifteen feet off the ground. Wooyoung sits next to him, enjoying the serene breeze that the ride offers with his hand over San’s as he grips onto the bar for dear life.

“Hey, San.”

“Yeah?” San responds, his eyes shut.

“I think you should open your eyes, and instead of looking down, look to your left.”

San opens one eye just to look at Wooyoung, who’s on his right. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Wooyoung says. “You faced your fear before. And you can face it again.”

He glances over San’s shoulder, where the sun setting paints the sky and renders it a plethora of apricots and violets. Rides and booths have begun to light up, sending their electric beams of pink and green and purple and blue, illuminating the sky in ways Wooyoung has never experienced in his life.

“It’s beautiful,” Wooyoung says. “You need to see it.”

San opens his other eye, albeit quite slowly and dubiously, and _looks_ at Wooyoung.

_A beautiful sight for a beautiful boy._

San turns his head and Wooyoung leans forward to watch him do it.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“Well?”

“Well, you’re right. It certainly is a sight to see.” He chuckles, turning back to center. In front of them is the single-person swing that holds Yeosang, who has his hands fastened around the chains rather than the protection bar. He, too, is looking to his left, swinging his legs freely upon nothing but air.

“Hey, Yeosang!” San shouts over the wind’s roar.

Yeosang turns around. “Yeah?”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

And Yeosang smiles at him, his birthmark crinkling with his eyes.

“You bet it is!”

San laughs, _truly_ laughs, his right hand letting go of the bar and sliding under Wooyoung’s. He intertwines their fingers and squeezes, clammy and trembling.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said his didn’t start shaking too.

☼

After rides comes food, and after food comes games, according to Yunho. And last comes the Ferris wheel, because nighttime is when you can see _everything_ , and it looks even better from the stars. “I wouldn’t know though,” says Yunho, “since I’ve never been on one. But I’ve always dreamed of it, and I imagine it is.”

They split a mountain of french fries and Yeosang eats an entire funnel cake all by himself, coating his lips and the corners of his mouth with powdered sugar. Some even gets on his nose, and Wooyoung has this strange urge to lick it off but suppresses it because that’s weird and Yeosang would probably not like that.

So instead, he says, “I can touch my nose with my tongue,” as if it’s relevant.

Of course, he’s asked to demonstrate the unique talent he’d learned back in eighth grade, and he does, and the four of them drop their jaws.

“Bro, what else does that tongue do?” Yunho asks unabashedly, and Yeosang coughs up a cloud of powdered sugar.

Well, Wooyoung wouldn’t exactly know, so he just laughs and keeps quiet and ignores the fact that he can feel San’s eyes on him.

It’s common knowledge that carnival games are rigged, so Wooyoung isn’t expecting much going into them. Except, he watches Yunho with rapt attention because out of the ten games he plays, he wins prizes for seven of them, _including_ the notoriously unfair ring toss.

Wooyoung ends up having to hold three plushies and a fucking _goldfish_. As big as Yunho’s hands are, he can’t carry everything he wins. Lucky bastard.

He’s on his way to another game when he stops dead in his tracks and whips back around.

“What?” Wooyoung asks.

“Where’s Mingi?”

Worry surges through Wooyoung’s veins, an instinct he acquired back when they were still in school, when he felt every intrinsic need to protect Mingi. He knows that Mingi’s an adult now, that he has all of their numbers and can reach out. It’s not dark, either. Mingi will be fine wherever he is, Wooyoung _knows_ that. Mingi isn’t helpless. He isn’t small.

But there are years and years of being Mingi’s shield under his belt, and it’s almost a reflex, how quickly he turns on his feet and heads back in the direction of the picnic table they’d been at while they ate.

On the way, however, there’s a man walking towards them, holding a teddy bear that’s almost as big as him, head barely poking past the enormous plushie.

It’s Mingi.

“Holy shit, what the hell?” Wooyoung exclaims, storming up to him. “Mingi, where have you _been_?”

As if Mingi had been prepared for that exact question, he holds out a folded up piece of paper between his index and middle finger.

_‘i went to go win this for yunho’_

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung says, crumpling up the piece of paper and shoving it in his pocket. “Yunho, get over here!”

“That thing is _massive_ ,” is what Yunho says as soon as he approaches. Mingi holds the bear out to him. “What, is it for me?”

Mingi shakes his head eagerly, urging it into Yunho’s arms. “Holy shit.” Yunho bursts out laughing as he cradles the bear against him. “What the hell? You didn’t have to win this for me. I already won a ton of prizes.”

_‘i won this at the booth you DIDN’T win at ;D’_

Yunho shakes his head, smiling in disbelief. “You really didn’t have to win this for me.”

_‘i wanted to.’_

Wooyoung watches as Yunho hugs it tight, one of the softest yet most genuine smiles on his face.

“Thank you, Mingi. Really.”

Mingi nods, a silent _you’re welcome_.

When San and Yeosang catch up, they barely have time to process the gigantic bear before Yunho is exclaiming, “Okay, Ferris wheel next!” and running away, the bear’s limbs flopping around in his hold.

Wooyoung watches like a proud parent. Just like how he’d watched Mingi up on that stage to receive his diploma. Just like how he’d hugged San tight after the jump from the cliff. And now, he gets to witness a boy living the childhood he always wanted, feeling a familiar warmth rising in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey.” San’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Wanna ride the Ferris wheel with me?”

“You’re gonna go on it?” Wooyoung asks, though not condescendingly.

“I wanna see this view Yunho is all excited about.”

Yunho has already reserved all their places in line, much to the other visitors’ displeasure. They wait in a cluster, Yunho and his bear towering over Wooyoung while San stands on Wooyoung’s other side.

Then, Yunho nudges Wooyoung with his shoulder, leans in, and whispers, “I’m going on with Mingi and Yeosang. Now’s the time to make your move, dude.”

Wooyoung presses his lips in a thin line as he side-glances San, who is staring up at the structure with what looks like wonder rather than fear.

_If San can face his fear, then maybe I can too._

☼

“The view from the stars shines the brightest,” is what Yunho had told them.

And boy, was he right.

Even more magnificent than the view from the swing ride. Wooyoung gazes out at it, neon colors pressed onto the night sky’s midnight canvas, radiant, glowing. He can still hear the roller coasters rattling and the shrill bells of winning, the commotion and conversation below. He is on top.

It’s the highest Wooyoung has ever been, and while he knows he’s far from the actual stars, he can’t help but feel like he could touch one.

“Well?” he breathes, faced away from San, though the question is directed at nobody else. “What do you think?”

The familiar salt of the ocean breeze caresses his cheek.

And then, a calloused finger is turning it, and a pair of lips lands on his.

Wooyoung’s brain short circuits, a short gasp escaping through his nose as the feeling of someone’s mouth on his returns to him. It has been so long since he’s kissed someone, and he’s never been kissed quite like this. No tender yet rough hand cupping his cheek, no metal or tattoos or chains, taking him by complete surprise.

It takes him a few seconds to catch up, gingerly moving his mouth with San’s as his reflexes return to him, and he sighs, his hand landing on San’s knee through his ripped jeans. San’s hand migrates from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers reaching into his hair as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, swiping his pierced tongue along Wooyoung’s bottom lip.

Wooyoung can’t help but whimper into San’s mouth. To his surprise, San’s piercings don’t pose as much of an obstruction. They’re just _there_. It doesn’t make it more or less difficult to kiss him, just like his past doesn’t make it more or less difficult to care about him.

_The view from the stars shines the brightest._

_And I get to share it with you._

San is the one to pull away first, but even Wooyoung can tell he doesn’t want to.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” Wooyoung asks, chuckling.

But San doesn’t laugh. He’s looking at Wooyoung again, eyes riddled with something Wooyoung has never seen in him before.

“For seeing me.”

_Thank you for seeing me too._

The words get lodged in Wooyoung’s throat, and he realizes that perhaps he isn’t ready to face his fear just yet.

So instead, he shifts closer to San and rests his head on his shoulder, their fingers intertwined once more.

_Thank you for allowing me to see your fear and face it with you._

_I hope you will do the same for me._

Wooyoung has a feeling that San will, because it seems as if he is already doing so.

☼

> _Yunho took us all to a carnival. I won him a giant stuffed bear._
> 
> _But allow me to tell you about the view from the stars._
> 
> _It was more than just breathtaking, or magical, or wondrous, or synonyms of the like._
> 
> _I am terrified of the dark. There is nothing I fear more than the unknown, the inability to see but still smell and feel and hear. But with this, it was far from dark. Lights were everywhere. And I could see them all. They surrounded me everywhere I looked. They shined so brightly that even the lonely horizon looked like a rainbow. We were so high up, but I wasn’t afraid._
> 
> _I sat between Yunho and Yeosang and Yunho had the bear I won for him next to him. We talked about the view. And Yunho said something I will never forget._
> 
> _“You guys make me feel like I’m not alone anymore, even when I am.”_
> 
> _And that is what looking at the view felt like. And what being with them feels like._
> 
> _Like an infinity of lights illuminating the darkest dark that exists._
> 
> _Wooyoung told me that San kissed him on the Ferris wheel. Definitely cheesy, but I couldn’t be happier for him. San is a good person, as much as he wishes he wasn’t. And he makes Wooyoung feel safe. That is all I could ever ask for._
> 
> _After all, that is what I feel when I’m with them._
> 
> _I am no longer in the dark. I am surrounded by stars and lights and even when they’re snuffed out and expired, their wisps of faded color will remain._
> 
> _I am sorry for the long entry. But I am trying to find the words to describe what being with them feels like. I hope I will find them eventually._
> 
> _But just know that I’m really happy, and I think everyone else is, too. Even Yeosang. I will never forget the look on his face when I gave him those colored pencils._
> 
> _When I think about it, I’m pretty sure that the conversation I heard between San and Wooyoung wasn’t a dream. I just hope Yeosang doesn’t do it anymore._
> 
> _And I hope that we are all each other’s light in some way, because the way I see it, we’re all afraid of the dark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the view was lovely :D
> 
> Feel free to drop a kudos/comment if you enjoyed! Thank you for reading 😊
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
> shan: [twitter](https://twitter.com/useumssi) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/useumssiiii)


	5. Moony Eyes and Smoky Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surrounded by beauty. That’s what San is. Not faceless strangers and smoky nights spent atop dumpsters and brick walls.
> 
> The blazing sun. The sparkling sea. Luscious plant life and fresh, salty air that is far from the smoke that coats San’s lungs.
> 
> And four beautiful people to share it all with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you like this chapter! It's definitely a turning point, and we hope you enjoy reading as much as we loved writing this chapter!  
> And thank you for all your kudos and comments, it really means so much to us!
> 
> Warning for B&E, recreational drug use, discussions of self-harm, and sexual content.

**[Yunho]**

_hey_

**[San]**

_oh hey whats up_

**[Yunho]**

_nothing much, i have tomorrow off and im on break rn_

_guess what i got_

**[San]**

_ooooh does it start with w and end with d_

**[Yunho]**

_;D_

_u think the others would be down to smoke with us_

**[San]**

_GOD i hope so, could you imagine yeosang high???_

**[Yunho]**

_dude i bet he’d get crazy_

_like the complete opposite of how he normally is_

_but dude u know whats even better_

**[San]**

_what_

**[Yunho]**

_i got some prerolls_

_and remember the stuff i got you last time?_

_it’s that_

**[San]**

_DUUUUUDE THAT SHIT WAS INSANE I ASTRAL FUCKING PROJECTED_

_IF YOU GIVE THAT TO THEM THEY’RE GONNA DIE LMAOOO_

**[Yunho]**

_it’s ok, i’ll only let them take one (1) hit_

_we should arrange a night where we all get high as shit, if they’re down_

_also..._

_may i ask what’s going on between you and sir wooyoung hmmm_

**[San]**

_nothing_

**[Yunho]**

_i dont think kissing at the top of a ferris wheel is considered “nothing” sannie_

_we’ll talk later, break time’s over!_

And just like Yunho said, of course it wasn’t nothing.

Even a week later, San can still feel the ghost of Wooyoung’s lips on his, the way his fingers curled in with his and squeezed them tight, how Wooyoung _whimpered_ into his mouth. San has kissed plenty of people before in questionable locations and in less than ideal fashions, so kissing Wooyoung like that at the top of a Ferris wheel, where he’d managed to break through his fear, it _meant_ something to him.

It wasn’t nothing. Because Wooyoung was with him, he could ignore the fact that he was several feet off the ground. He could look at the view and how beautiful it was. And there was Wooyoung, smack dab in the middle of it.

And on those swings, in front of him, Yeosang was flying, smiling. Free of concealer, gazing out at the same sky. And he, too, looked so beautiful.

Surrounded by beauty. That’s what San is. Not faceless strangers and smoky nights spent atop dumpsters and brick walls.

The blazing sun. The sparkling sea. Luscious plant life and fresh, salty air that is far from the smoke that coats San’s lungs.

And four beautiful people to share it all with.

☼

For whatever reason, Yunho thinks it’s a good idea to watch the sunrise, and San types a sleepy _f_ _ine_ into the group chat without even fully registering the words. 

When he wakes up, there’s a barrage of rejections in the notifications, his message the lone agreement to Yunho’s absolutely daft plan. But he can’t even take it back, not after seeing the exclamation marks and puppy-eyed emojis Yunho sent back in response.

So that’s why he’s here the next morning before even the sun has deigned to wake up, skulking next to Yunho on a very empty beach. He’s a little more subdued today but still a great deal more bright-eyed than San could ever hope to be at an hour like this. 

“Thanks for coming, San,” Yunho says. He whispers as though speaking too loudly will wake up the whole town.

San rolls his eyes but whispers back anyway. “It’s no problem.”

“I wish everyone came. The view from the thinking place is seriously one of the most amazing things I’ve seen.”

“The thinking place?”

“Oh, right,” Yunho chuckles. “It’s just this little cliff nearby that I like to go to when I want to think, I guess. It’s where I took Mingi when we went exploring, that first day we met. And it’s where we met Yeosang.”

San hums. “Sounds like a special place.”

“It is,” Yunho says. 

“It is now.” He whispers it under his breath, and San knows he wasn’t meant to hear it. Perhaps Yunho thought the crashing of waves against the deserted seashore would muffle the words, but they still reach San’s ears with all the intensity of a blaring siren. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just lets the words swim about in his head as Yunho leads the way. 

Yunho hands him a flashlight as they step under the cover of tall, swaying palms, the yellow-white beam cutting a clear path through the foliage. San follows closely behind, stepping where Yunho does, bracing himself on Yunho’s broad back when he stumbles over a particularly sneaky tree root.

When they reach the incline, the sky begins to lighten, indigo shifting to faded cobalt. Yunho quickens his pace until the two of them are nearly jogging up the cliff. When they break through the line of trees, the sky is splitting to let the sun shine its daffodil-colored rays through, bit by bit. 

Yunho sits down in the middle of his thinking place with a sigh. Whether it’s of satisfaction, or relief, or something else entirely, San doesn’t know. He sits down with a sigh too, knee knocking against Yunho’s as he crosses his legs. 

There isn’t anything special about the thinking place, San notices. Perhaps that’s why it makes such a good one. No distractions, no noise from the town. It’s so secluded that only a real recluse could have discovered the barely-worn path and its hidden destination.

_So what does that say about Yunho?_

It’s a place where you can be well and truly alone. A little pocket in the universe where you can fold yourself up and just _exist_ , the real world left behind. 

But there’s nothing truly _special_ about it. It’s the same old trees, and the same old ocean, and the same old screeching seagulls. 

_It is now._

Yunho brought Mingi here, and they met Yeosang.

A quiet corner of the cosmos suddenly made deafening by Yunho’s undying energy, Mingi’s loud silence, and Yeosang’s innocent beauty.

Three boys, all lonely in one way or another, taking refuge in a thinking place that really isn’t for thinking.

_It is now._

San gets it.

The tinny _shink_ of a lighter catching is what finally tears San’s gaze away from the lightening horizon. There are tears in his eyes, but they’re probably from looking at the sun, he reasons.

In the time San was drifting off in his reverie, Yunho had pulled a little baggie from his pocket. One joint remains in the clear plastic, and the other is pinched between his lips, the end of it flaring to life inside a flickering orange flame. He inhales long and deep, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment. When he sighs again, the shape of it is made real, a dancing cloud of swirling white that’s carried off by the wind in seconds. 

The thinking place. The sighing place. The kind-of special place. 

Whatever it is, San is glad Yunho brought him up here, even if it was at an ungodly hour. 

San takes the joint when Yunho holds it out to him. The scent of it is strong, unappealing to most. But to him, it’s a warm hug. An old friend that pats him on the head saying _don’t worry, just relax._

It’s incredibly potent, but San slips into the feeling. After two hits, the edge of the cliff becomes the edge of the world. After four, San thinks that Yunho is probably brighter than the sun.

There’s a lot about them that’s the same. Both are endlessly burning, a power that brings life to all they touch. But at the end of the day, they’re both just prisoners, cursed to make the same circuit day after day. The sun, with its never-changing path across the sky. And Yunho, trapped in a too-big house, living out day after day in a bustling town that brought many visitors, but never a friend.

“I wonder what it’s like,” San says. He doesn’t mean to, but the heady smoke makes his tongue as loose as the breeze that whisks it away.

“What what’s like?” Yunho is breathing in the last of what the joint has to offer, crushing the tiny stub underfoot. 

“Having a friend.”

Yunho chuckles. It’s probably louder than he realizes, but San enjoys the sound. It fits right in with the din of the ocean and the murmuring air. A natural phenomenon.

“I’ve wondered that, too,” Yunho admits, pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his long arms around them. It makes him look small, not at all like the six-foot sunbeam of a man that he is. 

“You’ve never had a friend?” It feels silly asking him. The answer should be a jolly _of course I have_ , but that’s not what San gets. Instead, he gets another sigh. No twirling smoke this time. Just a world-weariness that San feels in his very bones. 

“Not a real one. Not really.” There’s a finality to his tone. Like he knows it’s true. A fact that may as well be carved into stone.

“I wonder what it’s like,” San repeats, leaning back on his hands.

Yunho is silent for a moment, but it’s long enough for the sun to finally make its ascent. A golden coin hanging in the sky, shiny and new. San gets the appeal now. It’s the same sun, but each day it rises without fail. It begins a new day with the same tireless rigor as the day it exploded into being. 

_Yunho and the sun. One and the same._

“Having a friend…” Yunho whispers. San looks at him, vision hazy but still so _clear_. When Yunho turns his head to meet his gaze, it’s easy to see him. 

_Thank you for seeing me_ , he’d told Wooyoung.

_Thank you for letting me see you, Yunho._

“Having a friend… I imagine it’s a lot like this.”

San is inclined to agree. 

☼

They wander down from the thinking/sighing/definitely-special place when the sun is soaring over the town. 

The dizzying high has worn off, but the words between them, spoken aloud or not, still linger. 

Yunho asks him when they reach the beach.

“Hey, San.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna come stay with me for the rest of the summer?”

San would think he should be surprised. But he isn’t. 

Not in the slightest.

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

☼

The next time San sees Wooyoung and Mingi, he’s at the public beach near their house, watching as Yunho patrols the terrain like he owns it. He might as well. To San, he stands out the most, towering over pretty much everyone, built like a god, poised yet relaxed. He can’t stop staring, but Yunho is too occupied to notice, and even if he did, he’d probably shoot San a wink and a smirk.

It’s difficult to make San blush. Yunho makes it seem effortless.

“Yeah?” is the first thing Wooyoung says when he approaches, a lighthearted smirk playing on his face as he sits on San’s towel. San gives him an amused grunt in response. “How’s living with him, by the way?”

San had dropped the news in the group chat ( _fe_ _el free to pay me a visit anytime_ , he’d written), even though _technically_ he still has the hotel room. Two places to live, to migrate between as he chooses.

“It’s good. We watch movies, get high and vibe. It’s a good time.”

“Ah.”

San finally breaks away from staring at Yunho to look at Wooyoung instead. “Genuine question, Wooyoung. Would you and Mingi be down to get high with us sometime?”

Wooyoung and Mingi exchange a look before both of them break out into a smile. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to ask that.”

San can’t help but smirk. “So that’s a yes?”

Mingi has a dry erase board in hand this time. He uncaps the marker and writes, _‘I’ve been wanting to try for a while, I’m down.’_

“Yunho’s got some pre-rolls. Remember when he texted us super stoned and couldn’t articulate?” Wooyoung nods. “Yeah, it’s filled with _that_ stuff. Real potent. One hit for you guys and you’ll be set for the next twelve hours.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widen. “Oh god, you guys are gonna start us off with that?”

_‘yo I’m SO down for that’_

San laughs at Mingi’s silent enthusiasm. “That’s why you guys are only taking _one_ hit. Two if you don’t feel it. But I guarantee that you guys, who have never smoked before, won’t need more than that.” He yawns, raising his hands above his head and sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “You know what shotgunning is?”

“No, what is it?”

“I’ll show you when the time comes,” San says, chuckling darkly.

He shuts his eyes, shrouding his world in darkness. He can feel Wooyoung and Mingi settle themselves on either side of him, unrolling their towels and lying down on them, and he has never felt so light.

☼

**YUNHO AND DA BOIS**

**[San]**

_yo let’s do something illegal_

**[Wooyoung]**

_???_

**[San]**

_look i havent done something illegal in a while and im itching to do something ~reckless~_

**[Wooyoung]**

_like???_

**[San]**

_idk can we vandalize something_

_i do some pretty good graffiti_

_or steal road signs, that’s always fun_

**[Yunho]**

_i have an idea, y’all down for a smoke?_

**[San]**

_go on_

**[Mingi]**

_oh my god are you guys gonna take our weed AND criminal virginities???_

**[Yunho]**

_there’s this really rich neighborhood about ten min away and there’s this dude who’s always out of the house, probably traveling the country in search of the best cocaine_

**[Yeosang]**

_We’re not doing cocaine, are we?_

**[Yunho]**

_no but we are going to break into this guy’s backyard bc his pool is MASSIVE_

_used to do it back in the day, his pool was my thinking spot before the cliff was_

**[San]**

_oh my god this sounds delightful_

**[Yunho]**

_so i’m thinking, i’ll bring the prerolls and lets get high by this dude’s pool_

_yeosang i havent asked u yet but are u down for smoking_

_it’s ok if u arent_

**[Yeosang]**

_Um… maybe. I guess I’ll watch first and then decide?_

_You sure we won’t get caught?_

**[Yunho]**

_our chances of getting caught are like 40% bc of neighbors but id say those are pretty good chances for five stoned guys_

Yeosang’s tongue digs into the side of his cheek as he locks his phone and sets it down.

Breaking and entering? Never once did he think he’d be caught up in this.

In any other situation with any other people, Yeosang would be vehemently against the idea and shut it down immediately. But there’s some sort of excitement rolling around in his stomach, an anxiety that isn’t the bone-rattling fear of people’s eyes on his. Something that comes with _thrill_ rather than fear. Uneasy and uncomfortable, but exhilarating.

When he thinks about it, 40% really is a good chance for five stoned guys, _if_ he decides to get in on it.

As he rolls onto his side in preparation for sleep, he realizes that _something_ about these guys rouses feelings in him that shake him to his core, titillate his nerves, and make him feel like he can do just about anything.

Upon his nightstand lies the colored pencils that Mingi had gifted to him. He hasn’t stopped using them since.

☼

There will always come a time when someone just says “fuck it” and does something stupid, or regretful, or illegal, and Yeosang supposes this is it for him.

He finds himself in the familiar position of being squished in the backseat of Yunho’s car, this time between Mingi and Wooyoung. San’s in the front, a backpack nestled on his lap. Wooyoung has another one, given to him by Yunho. Yeosang wonders which one holds the drug paraphernalia.

He doesn’t realize how much he’s shaking until he feels Mingi’s large hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Even in the low light of incandescent street lamps, Yeosang can see his wide grin, filled with anticipation. Out of all people, Yeosang wouldn’t have expected Mingi to be so excited about such an occasion, but then again, it seems as if this trip continues to surprise him.

From what Yeosang observes, the further they travel past Yunho’s house, the more vast the landscape becomes. The spaces between the houses grow farther apart as the houses themselves grow bigger and bigger, accommodating more land. The shift is gradual but so drastic, and Yeosang finds his mouth hanging open at the grandiose sights unfolding before him—homes that he’s seen only in movies, ranging from modern, sleek houses with flat roofs and lit pathways to borderline mansions, golden walls with old-fashioned and country-esque charms. Lavish sports cars and SUVs line the thoroughly-paved street on either side, leaving barely enough room for Yunho’s to squeeze in. Though he might not be as wealthy as the people who live around here, at least his 2019 Honda Civic blends in nicely.

They hop out of the car, parked in front of a house that is probably the size of four of Wooyoung and Mingi’s house combined. All of the lights are off, save for a dim spotlight hanging over the front door. “This is actually my aunt’s summer home,” Yunho explains. “She never uses it, though. She has, like, three others.”

“Sheesh, is all of your family loaded?” Wooyoung asks as they follow Yunho further down the street.

“Pretty much,” Yunho says with a sigh. “I just use it as a place to park. The house we’re going to is still a bit of a walk.”

As Yeosang gazes around, he can’t help but feel out of place like this. Nearly all the houses are almost fully lit; surely _someone_ would see and be suspicious of five guys, two of which are carrying backpacks, meandering down the street. Yunho’s words echo in his head, however.

He wonders which of these mansions are home to people who are too busy seeing blurs and indistinguishable shapes to notice the world around them.

The journey is pretty straightforward, until Yunho veers left onto an emerald green lawn, perfectly groomed and cared for. The house is _long_ , two floors supported by thick columns and platforms, with enormous glass windows and paneling overlooking the street in the front and the beach towards the back. Surprisingly, there isn’t much to protect the backyard, just a white wall that’s easily surmountable and a few prickly shrubs the size of Wooyoung. Yunho tells them, “Take your pick,” before hoisting himself over the top of the wall and disappearing behind it.

Yeosang and San try the shrubs, crawling through the small space between them with ease, but Yeosang wonders how well that would go while high.

He steps onto an off-white patio that stretches the entire length of the house, decorated with cream-colored lounge chairs around the edges, a bar and grill to his left, and of course, the pool. A glowing cerulean, dug deep into the center, the gentle water undulating at the surface. The soft hum of the filtering system fills the air.

“Holy fuck,” San says, dropping his backpack. Must not be the drug paraphernalia.

“Pretty great, isn’t it?” Yunho laughs, sitting down at the edge of the pool and dipping his legs in.

“Can’t believe _this_ used to be your thinking spot,” San says, following suit.

“Figured I couldn’t keep it up, there’s always the chance of being caught, after all. Hey, Wooyoung, hand me my backpack.” Yunho gestures Wooyoung over, who hands the backpack to him. “Alright, kiddies, gather around and let Papa Yunho show you all how it’s done.”

“Never say that again,” San deadpans.

Ignoring him, Yunho opens the pockets at the front of his backpack and retrieves a lighter and a small tin. Inside are five joints, lined up neatly next to each other. “What do you think, San? Will two be enough?”

“More than enough,” San says mirthfully. “Who’s going first?”

Yunho takes out one of the pre-rolled joints and holds it out. It has the appearance of a cigarette, except what would be orange is beige and what would be white is green.

“I’ll try,” Wooyoung volunteers with a raise of his hand. “Just tell me what to do.”

“San, you do the honors.” Yunho smirks conspicuously, handing the lighter to San and the joint to Wooyoung. He holds it tentatively between his thumb and index finger, tilting his head as he observes it.

“Put the thinner end in your mouth,” San instructs, and Wooyoung follows. “I’m going to light this end, and once you see it smoke up, you inhale. Hold it in for a few seconds and exhale. Got it?”

Wooyoung nods silently, placing the tapered end between his lips as San flicks the lighter open and holds it to the thicker end. All eyes are on the two of them, watching attentively.

Sure enough, the cannabis-filled end ignites to life, the tip burning a singed orange as Wooyoung inhales and smoke flutters up into the air. San has his hand over Wooyoung’s, pulling it away once he’s inhaled sufficiently. “Hold,” San says gently. Wooyoung’s face twists in discomfort as the smoke stays stagnant in his mouth and lungs, and then San is turning him, saying, “Now breathe out.”

San opens his mouth and Wooyoung releases the smoke into it. Yeosang watches, mesmerized as the smoke travels from one mouth to another, that is, until Wooyoung abruptly turns away and coughs in the direction of the pool, hunched over. “F-fuck!” he exclaims, coughing between syllables.

“That, Wooyoung, was a shotgun,” San says, blowing out the smoke and smirking.

“That was a solid first hit. He’ll feel that, for sure,” Yunho comments, chuckling as he takes the joint from Wooyoung. “Yeosang? Mingi?”

“What about you?” Yeosang asks, cautiously taking the joint for himself.

“I’m waiting for everyone else to take a hit. Wanna make sure you’re all okay first.”

Yeosang smiles at him before glancing down at the scorched end that continues to smoke. “You need help?” Yunho offers. Yeosang shakes his head, sticking the thin end between his lips and sucking in.

A bitter warmth fills his mouth as the smoke travels down into his lungs, pooling into them and spreading. _Hold._ He removes the joint from his mouth and holds his breath, counting to three before blowing the smoke, puffing up in a cloud around his face. Swatting the cloud away, he coughs as well, an asperous trail of tingles left behind in his throat.

“Hey, that was pretty good!” Yunho beams, taking the joint from him and handing it to Mingi.

At first, Yeosang doesn’t feel much of anything. He watches as Mingi takes his hit, which actually goes pretty smoothly. He asks for water, eyebrows scrunched as he downs half of the bottle San hands to him, and somehow, all that comes out of his mouth is a single cough that he smothers with his elbow.

And then, Yeosang’s eyes start to sting. He blinks as he feels dry tears springing up, and he doesn’t even know how that _works._ San and Yunho finish the joint, sharing laughter between them. Wooyoung, at some point, had slipped into the pool still in his shirt. Mingi sits upright, cross-legged and poised.

Minutes pass. The burning sensation in his eyes and throat don’t fade no matter how much water he drinks, but it doesn’t hurt. There’s a _clink_ , and Yunho raises another joint.

“Think we can do another?” he asks nobody in particular.

Yeosang finds himself nodding lazily, unconsciously, the blue glow of the pool sitting pleasantly in his vision. How beautiful it looks, radiant from the inside out.

He looks at all of them, and supposes it rings true for them, too.

☼

San had taken off his shirt. Yeosang doesn’t remember when or why, but he definitely isn’t complaining. 

It’s not like it’s the first time he’s seen San’s bare body. There was, of course, the skinny dipping debacle where Yeosang had seen much more of San than he was prepared for. His embarrassment then had kept him from looking too closely, kept his eyes from wandering where they wanted. 

But now, under the cloud of cannabis, everything is fair game. So Yeosang looks. And he very much likes what he sees. 

Broad shoulders that taper down to a defined chest. A lithe, muscled torso that flexes so wonderfully when San slips into the cool water. Even his _arms_ are mouth-wateringly thick. How Yeosang hadn’t noticed before, he doesn’t know. But he’s definitely noticed it now, and this image of San is going to be burned into his memory.

San is still steady on his feet somehow as he completely submerges himself and comes back up, slicking his hair back with his hands. Droplets of water run over his chest and shoulders, down his back and neck. Yeosang wishes it were his fingers instead. 

Wooyoung is splayed against the wall of the pool, decidedly less steady than San. He, too, had foregone his shirt in favor of the cool relief of chlorinated water. There’s a light shining from behind him, and Yeosang _knows_ it’s a pool light, but it sort of looks like Wooyoung is sitting on a star. 

He giggles to himself.

 _Wooyoung is sitting on a star._ The notion is hilarious, but it’s really probably the weed talking. 

San looks over at him, smiling that smile. The one that pockets his face with the loveliest dimples. The one that makes his eyes into crescents more beautiful than the moon. 

_San’s eyes are the moon, and Wooyoung is sitting on a star._

“What’s so funny?” San asks. 

“Nothing,” Yeosang smiles back. His voice doesn’t even sound like his. It’s too loud and too quiet at the same time. “Your eyes are just moony.”

San cocks a brow at that, grin becoming even wider.

“Ah, I see.” He nods as if he understands. Yeosang knows he doesn’t, but he doesn’t really care. 

“I agree,” Yunho chimes from where he’s laying on a lounge chair. He’d not-so-silently dragged it over and claimed it (“I’m the oldest, I have a bad back!”). Mingi’s leaning back against it, long legs swaying gently in the water. Yunho feet are hanging by his shoulders, toes occasionally poking at his arms or tugging at his hair. Mingi doesn’t seem to mind though. 

Yunho sighs as he lets out a final, writhing cloud from his lungs, tossing the end of the joint somewhere in the shrubbery. Yeosang vaguely thinks that it’s probably not the safest, but hey, they _are_ surrounded by water after all, should the rich man’s perfectly trimmed foliage suddenly burst into flame.

“How are you guys feeling?” Yunho yawns out, stretching his arms. 

Mingi opens up his notebook but can’t figure out how to uncap his marker, so he shoots Yunho a thumbs up instead. 

“I’m great,” Yeosang slurs, mimicking Mingi. He can see two of Yunho, but he figures he probably shouldn’t share that.

“Me too, man,” San calls out. He’s leaning next to Wooyoung, who is leaning on him. 

Yeosang can appreciate it, the aesthetic of them together. The moon and the stars. One never goes anywhere without the other. 

A wonder to behold, high or not. Except when you’re high, everything seems just a little more magical. San’s vines, the ones that circle his forearm, seem to grow, blooming like the ouroboros on his bicep. They twist and twine before Yeosang’s eyes, a little voice in the back of his mind reminding him that it’s not real. 

But Yeosang chooses not to listen. It’s a first, to not listen to the nagging of his subconsciousness, but tonight is a night of firsts.

He thinks about the lines on his own forearm. There’s no black ink there. No twisting vines or soft leaves. The magic doesn’t touch them, doesn’t make them into something _else._

“What about you, Wooyoung?” Yunho asks. 

Wooyoung hums but doesn’t say anything. When he looks up from the living tattoo on San’s arm, he sees that Wooyoung is looking at him. 

He’s staring. Like he’s studying him. 

His gaze roves from his long blonde hair to his face. He pauses at the birthmark, Yeosang notes, but not for long. Then it’s his lips, his neck, the top of his collarbone peeking from beneath the low neckline of his shirt. And then it slides down to his arm. 

Yeosang’s heart begins to race, and it’s not from the weed. It's a bucket of cold water thrown over his head. A sudden realization. Wooyoung is looking at his arm. The left one. The one he suffers so much to hide.

_Wooyoung knows._

Or rather, he’s known. For a while, judging by the cool calm in his face. 

There’s a question in Wooyoung’s eyes when he finally looks back up.

_Why?_

There are too many answers to such a question. Too much hurt trapped under his skin, fighting for a way out.

Wooyoung never demanded one. Not once. And Yeosang finds himself grateful for it. 

It makes him want to give him an answer, an explanation of sorts. Yeosang feels like he should, and his inhibitions are long gone. So he chooses a ‘why’ and gives Wooyoung an answer.

 _Why do you hide from us?_ is the question. 

_I don’t know_. It’s the plain truth.

So Yeosang reaches down to his hips, gripping the soft material of his shirt between shaking fingers, and with a motion that lasts only seconds but feels like years to him, he pulls it over his head. 

He’s as bare as San and Wooyoung, but he feels completely naked. The skin of his torso and arms haven’t seen the light of day in so _long_. It makes the dark scars even darker, a gauntlet of hurt that Yeosang’s been carrying with him for god-knows how long.

San sees it first. First after Wooyoung, that is. He only blinks.

 _San knew, too._

Yeosang doesn’t quite understand it, but he feels _relieved._

He feels _free_ , a weight lifted from his shoulders. 

Yunho notices next, the soberest out of all of them. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flash with understanding. Not pity, but empathy. Not disgust, but kindness. And then, as if he knew Yeosang could never bear to see him frown, Yunho smiles.

Another pound of weight, gone.

When Mingi sees, he tilts his head and this time, he manages to uncap his marker.

_‘Do they hurt?’_

Yeosang shakes his head.

_Not as badly as they used to._

“Why do you do it?” Yunho asks hesitantly, as if Yeosang would break.

Another ‘why’. This one is easier to answer.

“ _Did_ ,” Yeosang clarifies. “I used to.”

“Okay. Why _did_ you do it?”

Yeosang averts his eyes, a familiar shame creeping up behind his back. "I used to think about it like this. If I cut myself, I bleed out all the bad things and I feel better. But the bad things were never truly gone because the blood kept clotting. I was keeping myself alive, keeping all the bad things in. There's a high that comes with cutting oneself, but just like everything, it's temporary.”

“So is pain,” Yunho points out.

"Yes, sure. Everything, including pain, is temporary. But when you are trapped inside a body you have grown to hate, you have no choice but to live with that body and all the pain it holds. Everything is temporary until the day you die. And a lifetime can feel like forever." He sighs. “One’s lifetime _is_ their forever.”

Yeosang is aware of all the potential questions that come with seeing such a violent act upon oneself. There’s the ‘why,’ then there’s the ‘when’ and ‘how.’ All of which, Yeosang has the answers to, but those answers have never seen the light of day.

At least, until now. They’re all looking at him, but they’re not looking at him in the way he’s used to.

Innocuous, curious gazes driven by concern or sympathy, possibly both. And not a nosy curiosity, either, from what Yeosang can tell.

_They want to know you, Yeosang. And maybe it’s about time someone did._

San makes a noise of acknowledgment, something between a grunt and a hum. “It’s amazingly unfair, how much pain one can acquire in such a short amount of time and live with for an infinity longer.”

Yeosang looks up at San, whose droopy eyes are trained at the shrubbery behind everyone. “What did they hate you for, Yeosang?” he asks like he knows.

And perhaps it’s obvious. Yeosang is aware he isn’t exactly secretive when it comes to making sure his hair is perfectly placed to hide his mark. He’s already shown them the concealer he uses for heaven’s sake. Yet San is asking him like he _knows_ it’s more than just the birthmark, because it is.

And Yeosang thinks, perhaps their intuition is so accurate because they know what it’s like, to be so afraid.

“The birthmark, at first. It was the thing closest to the surface, so that’s what they latched onto, I guess. And I was always so skinny, no good at sports, did well in my classes, so I guess that earned me the title of your stereotypical nerd, and it spiraled from there. Their voices followed me everywhere, from elementary to high school. You guys have no idea how fucking good it felt to leave those halls and never go back.”

San scoffs. “Trust me, I know.”

“Did you feel suffocated too?”

“All the fucking time. And it wasn’t just the smoke.” He chuckles spitefully. “It was the people. Breathing in all your precious air and taking up all your precious time. Looking at you like you’re some kind of monster just because you look different, or because you don’t fit in with the image they’ve carved out for everyone. Parasites, all of them. All they did was suck the moisture out of your mouth and force you into silence. And you had no choice but to stand by and watch as they thrived while you rotted away until that final bell rang, and even then, you’re just a walking corpse. The damage had been done.”

Yeosang lets out a silent gasp. San’s eyes finally flit towards his and he smiles, dimples carving themselves into his cheeks. “You know.” Yeosang says it like it’s a fact.

“Kids are fucking cruel. It’s no fun, being forced into silence.”

There’s the sound of a marker against paper.

_‘can confirm’_

Strangely enough, they all laugh at Mingi’s note. Whether it’s the pot or the company or both, Yeosang doesn’t know, and he doesn’t mind.

“I’m glad you don’t do it anymore,” Yunho says genuinely, rubbing Yeosang’s bare shoulder. It has been so long since anyone has touched the skin there.

Yeosang can’t remember the last time he’s felt anybody’s hands on his bare skin.

“I’m glad, too,” he says with an infinitesimal smile. “I thought maybe if I created slits in my skin, I could breathe easier. And in a way, I did. But look at me now.” Yeosang holds his arm up in front of him, glaring mercilessly at the scars that mar it. “I don’t do it anymore because it’s too much upkeep. It created so much more baggage that I couldn’t handle. But I still… I still can’t look at myself in the mirror without hating everything I see.”

Wooyoung wades over to him, head tilting to the side as he rests his arms on Yeosang’s thighs. “I like you,” he says.

Yeosang squints at him, his dark form a vast contrast to the pool, yet so bright at the same time. Wooyoung is so bright.

“What?”

“I said. I like you. I like you and your birthmark. I don’t like your scars because I hate to think that you did that to yourself, but they’re on you. And I like you.” He sinks down, allowing his heavy head to rest on his arms.

Yeosang can’t help but smile, his arm lifting as if on a marionette’s string, threading his fingers in Wooyoung’s hair. Wooyoung hums, sinking further, deepening his weight on Yeosang’s legs.

“You’re so beautiful, Yeosang.”

Yeosang chuckles, low and dark. “You’re not too bad yourself, Wooyoungie.”

Wooyoung mimics Yeosang’s chuckle, lifting his head as he moves his hands to either side of Yeosang, gripping the edge of the pool. With his chest pressed against Yeosang’s knees, he gazes up at him and smiles. “You are… so beautiful,” he says again. It comes out as an exhale of wonder, and just for a moment, Yeosang can feel Wooyoung’s breath on his face, earthy and bitter.

And then he lets go of the edge, pressing a sloppy kiss to Yeosang’s knee before slinking back down underwater and re-emerging by San once again. There’s a jump in Yeosang’s shorts, the feeling of Wooyoung’s mouth on his skin lingering, pooling beneath his pores.

When Yeosang glances up, he sees Wooyoung in San’s embrace, lips locked in a passionate kiss. Yunho whistles long and high beside him. “Well, isn’t that sweet?” he deadpans, followed by a tiny, high-pitched laugh.

As if the two are lost in their own world, one where all they have is each other, Yunho’s words drown in the pool that their lower halves are submerged in. Yeosang has never seen two people kiss quite like this, not even on television, and certainly not physically in front of him. As much as he feels like his gut _would_ twist in jealousy, it’s coiling with something much different.

One of San’s hands is cupping Wooyoung’s face while the other is planted around him, splayed across the back of his neck. Wooyoung has his hands on San’s waist, and even Yeosang can see how tight his grip is from the way the blue dips into the indents of his fingers. And the further they kiss, the further their hands roam across each other’s skin—their chests, their hair, their hips, and even down the backs of their swim trunks.

A fire simmers low in Yeosang’s stomach, not uncomfortable, not unpleasant, but not entirely welcome either.

Unfamiliar is what it is.

“Forgive them,” Yunho whispers, having slid off his chair and onto the patio next to Yeosang. “As you can see, Wooyoung is a horny kind of stoned. It happens.”

Yeosang snorts a chuckle. “Hey.” Yunho puts an arm around him. “I’m proud of you. And don’t you dare ask me what for, because you already know what for.”

“Okay.” Yeosang lets out a giggle, head heavy with a short-term memory. A question of ‘why’ sits in his brain, checkboxes finally marked off, his words floating around their heads and making their journey up to the sky.

_Free. That is what I feel when I’m with you._

“I hope you know that there are many parts to you, and your pain is just a fraction. It’s not all-encompassing, as much as it may feel. It’s not _you_ , Yeosang. Because you are so much more than just your pain. You are your accomplishments and victories and triumphs and talent. Your words. Your actions. So. Much. More.”

Yunho pulls him in closer, until Yeosang’s head is practically slotted into his shoulder. His long fingers curl up into his hair from the side, caressing it tenderly. “Yunho,” Yeosang sighs, “are we friends?”

“Yes, Yeosang. We’re friends.” Yunho chuckles.

Yeosang’s smile starts off small. And it grows. It grows until he finds himself laughing at nothing and everything as he lets the weight of his head and so much more sink onto Yunho’s shoulder. There are wetter tears welling up now but this time around, they have never felt so welcome.

“If this is what having friends feels like… I never want this feeling to go away.”

“Me neither, Yeosang.”

“I was so alone for so long, Yunho.” Yeosang sniffles, like he’s crying. He might be. He doesn’t know. “And you… you say things as if you know what it’s like. To be so alone.”

Yunho pushes out a heavy sigh. “You see, I think the worst kind of loneliness is the one when you’re surrounded by people. So many voices, too much noise, and when you try to say something, _anything_ , it just gets lost. You’re there, but not really. A background character in someone else’s story.”

Yeosang looks at San and Wooyoung again, lips still locked together, and he wonders how lonely they must have been without each other.

“You are all main characters in mine,” Yeosang whispers, taking Yunho’s hand and squeezing gently.

“And I can say the same.”

Yeosang’s eyes slip shut.

And then, there’s the _crash_ of a massive splash of water. Yeosang hadn’t noticed, but at some point, Mingi had gotten up from his spot and cannonballed into the shallow end, directly next to San and Wooyoung. The impact sends water _everywhere_ , soaking Yunho and Yeosang from the head down and instantly separating San and Wooyoung from their intimate escapade. Mingi emerges with a dramatic hair flip, his face broken out into a gargantuan smile, and he laughs.

He _laughs._ Not the several puffs of air that they usually hear.

Through and through, it’s a laugh, loud and boisterous with a slight rasp to it. Deep, from what Yeosang can tell, all from the chest, at the top of his lungs.

Yeosang’s mouth drops open.

“Mingi.” Wooyoung is the first to speak amidst the internal questions and chaos. “Mingi, you…”

Mingi’s laughter simmers into a soft chuckle. Wooyoung joins him in his laughter, throwing his arms around his best friend’s broad frame, and Mingi instantly reciprocates.

“Mingi, you… you have no idea. You have _no_ idea.”

And then Wooyoung starts _sobbing_ as he laughs, his words drowning in his throat.

 _You have no idea how amazing it feels to hear you_ , Yeosang imagines, but he is sure it’s only half of what Wooyoung wants to say. Yeosang has only known Mingi for about a month. Wooyoung is his childhood best friend.

And yet, hearing Mingi laugh like this is like the freshest breath of air after being suffocated by toxic smog and words like knives through his lungs.

“Shit!” Yunho hisses all of a sudden, springing to his feet but nearly slipping. “Guys, we gotta go!”

“What—” Wooyoung and Mingi break apart, only to turn and see exactly what Yunho is seeing.

A light.

“Fuck!” comes the simultaneous exclamation from both San and Wooyoung as they scramble out of the pool, Mingi following suit.

Yunho tugs on Yeosang’s arm, though his scrawny limbs feel like boulders to lift. “Yeosang, come on!”

And Yeosang tries, he really does, but it’s as if the joints in his knees are locked in that obtuse angle from being bent over the edge and under the water for so long. The weed circulating through his body certainly isn’t helping, either.

“God fucking dammit,” Yunho mutters, and the next thing Yeosang knows, he’s being manhandled over muscular shoulders, body folded in half as Yunho carries him through the bushes that scrape his skin on the way out. His upper half knocks against Yunho’s firm back with each thundering step, and his pathetic attempts at lifting his head prove absolutely futile since he can barely keep his eyes open to begin with.

He’s thrusted into the backseat on top of two people—he can’t distinguish who—and he starts laughing again.

“Yeo, you alright there, buddy?” comes Yunho’s voice from the front. The engine starts with a rev, and Yeosang feels the tires jerk as they screech underfoot.

“I’m so good,” Yeosang mumbles, nuzzling into whoever’s leg his head is against. They smell vaguely of smoke. “I’m so, so good.”

There’s a chorus of laughter that rings like Christmas bells, so serene in his ears, and as risky as the rendezvous at the rich man’s house may have been, Yeosang has never felt so at peace. He is soaking wet, his throat is achingly dry, but he feels so free.

_Thank you for seeing me with brand new eyes and open minds. You see me and you know. You understand. And you accept me._

_Thank you._

_Thank you._

_Thank you._

☼

Adrenaline is addictive, especially in its most organic form. It gets the heart pumping like nothing else, a burst of energy from seemingly nowhere. The high of it is different from the high Yunho’s joint gave him. 

The weed made his head fuzzy and his body heavy but adrenaline made everything startlingly clear.

From the moment Wooyoung had thrown his arms around him, to the messy escape from the rich man’s house, to the pile-up of bodies in Yunho’s car as they drove away—Mingi remembers every second, every detail of it. And he honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Even now, as they pull into Yunho’s driveway, breathless, high, and exhausted, everything is sharp, endlessly detailed. 

There’s Wooyoung, rubbing a hand over Yeosang’s back as he comes down from his high. There’s San, looking at Wooyoung with an expression Mingi’s never seen before.

There’s Yunho, grinning from ear to ear as he watches the rearview mirror.

There’s Yeosang, arms still bare. 

But adrenaline is like any other drug—there’s a high and a crash, and Mingi feels it with every bone in his body as they trudge into Yunho’s house. He isn’t sure if anyone else is experiencing the come-down like he is, but at least Yeosang can walk now, and Wooyoung has the good sense to look worried, albeit only a little.

“They won’t know it was us, right?”

“Nope.” Yunho pops the ‘p’, completely nonplussed. “There’s a reason I chose that guy’s place. Not a camera in sight.” He winks back at them as he flicks a switch, lightbulbs flaring to life. 

It’s jarring, the sudden flash of light. Mingi’s dry eyes ache as he blinks away the colorful spots dancing in his vision. 

It’s funny, he thinks, that Yunho’s house is exactly the same as when they left it, but the five of them are completely different. Changed. _Transformed._

It’s easily seen in the way San weaves his fingers between Wooyoung’s as they help Yeosang up the stairs, and in the way Yeosang just lets them. Most obvious, perhaps, is the way Wooyoung keeps looking back at Mingi, unshed tears in his eyes. 

No one can see it, but Mingi’s throat aches, overstimulated after _years_ of disuse, but it hurts in the best way possible. Ten years since he’d heard his own voice, and it feels nothing like he thought it would. Terror and shame—that’s what he’d expected. But what he got was utter euphoria, relief from having broken free of the cage he’d put himself in. 

His notebook and marker hang in his hand loosely, an extension of himself for the past decade. He can’t part with them, not quite yet. But soon, Mingi hopes.

_I hope I’ll be able to say everything you need to hear._

Getting Yeosang changed and tucked into one of the spare rooms upstairs isn’t too much of an ordeal, the man still pliable under the influence of drugs. His eyes are closed before they even shut the door behind them, snoring softly under the covers. 

“How are you guys feeling?” Yunho asks once they go back down to the lounge, voice still barely above a whisper.

“Fucking great,” Wooyoung whispers back. He’s draped across San’s lap in one of the beanbags, head tucked into the crook of his neck. San’s hand is resting on his knee, rubbing small circles into the smooth skin. Even from where he’s sitting, he can see the plethora of goosebumps that rise across Wooyoung’s arms and legs. Yunho seems to notice as well, his eyebrow arching suggestively.

Yunho claps, loud and echoing. “Well, the night is young. I was thinking of going for a walk. Wanna join me?” 

The last bit is directed towards Mingi, Yunho holding out a hand in his direction. Mingi just looks at it for a moment. The night most definitely is _not_ young, but he sees what Yunho is trying to do.

They were so caught up in each other earlier, the two of them. It was a sight to behold. Even now, the chaste touches shared between the pair snuggled into the beanbag speak of something more, something that needs exploring. 

So Mingi reaches out and takes Yunho’s hand, his own goosebumps exploding across his skin.

They part through the back door and down the cascading rocks; the path is familiar to Mingi now, easy as walking down stairs. 

Despite his best efforts, the image of Wooyoung so wrapped up in San remains etched in Mingi’s memory as they meander down the deserted beach. He looked like he _belonged_ there, a perfect fit for San’s embrace. 

_I wonder what it feels like._

Yunho is walking beside him, kicking up sand and stopping to admire washed-up shells in silvery moonlight. The effects of the weed and adrenaline had worn off a little while back, but Yunho is still a bright spot in the dark night; golden skin and brown hair set alight by a blazing smile and an even warmer heart.

Mingi had noticed before, of course, how soft Yunho’s lips look. How pointed his cupid bow is, and how his plump lower lip looks when it’s caught between blunt, white teeth. He wonders what it would feel like to touch them, to feel them against him. Against his own lips. 

He wonders what Yunho’s hands would do. Would they rove his entire body the same way San’s hands had Wooyoung’s? Or would they rest on his waist or his hips, gripping them hard? Or even better, would they find their way to Mingi’s hair and tangle in the soft locks, a means to pull him closer? To make him fit?

It seems almost impossible with Mingi’s long body and gangly limbs, but if anyone could find a way to make it work, it would be Yunho. 

The air is humid now, stuffy and heavy in his lungs. 

“There’s a storm coming,” Yunho says. He doesn’t seem too worried. 

_There’s a storm walking right next to me. One that makes me feel as though I’ve been struck by lightning and set on fire from the inside._

“How are you feeling?” Yunho repeats the question from earlier, the one Mingi had thought he avoided. His notebook was left behind, too bulky to carry on a midnight walk. Instead, he reaches for his phone, pulling up his notes. 

_‘I feel ok’_

“Just okay?”

_‘Just ok’_

Yunho is silent for a beat before he speaks again.

“You laughed today, Mingi.”

_‘I did’_

“How did that feel?” Yunho looks at him now, eyes wide and shining. There’s something in them that makes a stone drop into Mingi’s belly. His throat begins to feel tight, eyes prickling as tears threaten to make an appearance.

Mingi answers honestly.

_‘It hurt… but it felt good at the same time’_

“How long has it been?” He asks as if he’s afraid to know the answer. Like he knows it will already break him. 

_‘Ten years’_

Yunho lets out a whoosh of breath, the heaviest sigh he’s ever heard escape the man. 

“Wow… that’s a long time not to speak to your best friend.”

_‘I don’t need to speak for him to understand me’_

Yunho chuckles softly. “Yes, I’m sure.”

A silence falls over them as the air becomes even heavier, laden with moisture. Thunder rumbles overhead, dark, invisible clouds no doubt bringing a heavy storm to their neighborhood.

“Just so you know…”

Mingi looks over at him as the first raindrops begin to fall, a mere pattering of droplets against their hair and skin. 

_‘Yeah?’_

Yunho takes a deep breath. “...I think your voice is beautiful, Mingi. And I hope I get to hear more of it before this summer is over.”

Mingi stares at him, feet stopping of their own accord. He looks at Yunho, really _looks_. The sincerity in his voice and his eyes are overwhelming, the tears in Mingi’s own eyes finally welling up. 

Whether they spill over or not, Mingi doesn’t quite know. The sky opens up, sending a downpour over the two of them, but Yunho doesn’t flinch or move away. He just stands with Mingi in the rain, watching him, waiting. 

Mingi doesn’t know what Yunho wants him to say, and knows he definitely can’t find the words right now. So instead, he pockets his phone and takes one step.

A step closer to Yunho. 

He watches as Mingi comes to a stop, still an arm's length away. The space between them disappears, though, when Yunho moves forward until their chests are nearly touching, warm breaths ghosting each other’s faces despite the cool night. 

Yunho’s never needed to read his words to know what he wants to say, Mingi has realized. It’s like he can read Mingi the same way he reads his words. He always knows the right thing to say, or when not to say anything at all. He knows when Mingi needs something, or if he’ll be okay on his own. And now…

He reads Mingi like a book. His eyes rove over his face, and Mingi can see that he understands. Each scrunch of his brows is a vowel, each flush of his cheeks a consonant. The corners of his lips string the words together as they tug up ever so slightly. 

Yunho reads him perfectly. 

A hand comes up to rest on his cheek, wet with tears or rain or both. Yunho leans forward to press their foreheads together. When they’re this close, even the quietest whisper sounds like a deafening shout over the storm. 

“Mingi… can I kiss you?”

The words jolt him, sending a wave of warmth straight to his core. Mingi nods and closes his eyes. 

The heavy drops on his skin are soaking him to the bone, plastering his hair to his forehead and making his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. But Mingi can’t bring himself to care about any of that when Yunho cups his chin, this time with both hands, and tilts his face up, pressing his lips against Mingi’s.

It’s a soft, barely-there kiss that’s over in what feels like milliseconds. And then it hits him, an addicting slam of energy in his veins that speeds up his heart and makes everything make sense. 

The adrenaline lights him up and moves his hands for him, throwing them around Yunho’s neck and pressing their lips together again, harder.

Yunho gasps, chest pressed against Mingi’s so hard that he can feel Yunho’s heart pound against his body. He doesn’t push Mingi away, though. It’s quite the opposite.

One hand circles his slim waist, the other tangling in his hair as Yunho gathers him in his arms, kissing him breathless. Mingi falls apart, holding Yunho for dear life as he’s kissed for what feels like the first time and the thousandth. 

Yunho’s lips are as soft as he imagined, his tongue warm and inviting as he swipes it against Mingi’s bottom lip. His lips part, already knowing what to do. Yunho tastes like smoke and honey and rainwater, and Mingi knows he’ll never get enough of it no matter how long they stand out in this storm holding each other, lips coming together and parting endlessly.

Yunho tightens his grip on Mingi’s waist, strong arms pulling him close as he kisses Mingi harder, and Mingi sighs into his mouth. 

All the drugs in the world have nothing on this euphoria, Mingi thinks. The storm singing around them is measly in comparison to the tsunami raging in every inch of his body. Mingi feels like he’s drowning, but he finds he doesn’t mind it. Not one bit. 

Yunho is an anchor in his arms, a steady presence in rough seas. 

So Mingi lets himself drown in it, because he knows Yunho will never let him go.

☼

The moment the back door slides shut behind Yunho and Mingi, San slides a finger under Wooyoung’s chin and reels him in for a long, deep kiss. It’s not like the lust-driven kisses that they’d shared at the pool, all tongues and wandering hands under the haze of pot. This is more subdued, a languid kiss that’s the complete foil of all their other kisses tonight. 

San’s hands don’t wander no matter how much Wooyoung wants them to, staying put cupping his cheek and knee, just feeling his skin. 

Wooyoung whimpers, hoping San gets the hint, and he does, judging by the smile that’s pressed against Wooyoung’s lips.

“What do you want, baby?”

“I w-want more,” Wooyoung breathes, hands coming to rest against San’s hard chest. 

“More?”

Wooyoung hums, diving back in for a kiss. This one is a little messier. It’s asking San everything that Wooyoung can’t find the words for. 

Ever since the Ferris wheel, the night that changed what _this_ was between them, a desire had sparked in Wooyoung’s core, slowly being fanned by each kiss and touch and sigh and whimper. It’s a fire now, burning low and hot, enough to make Wooyoung’s entire body flare up with pure want.

“If you want more,” San whispers against his mouth, “just take it. I’m yours.” 

The fire explodes, as if doused with gasoline. It burns menacingly bright for a few moments, drawing a moan from Wooyoung with two words alone. 

_I’m yours._

His fingers curl into the material covering San’s chest, hard muscles jumping under his touch. And then they move, ever so slowly, down to San’s waistband. 

Wooyoung teases the string holding the shorts up around San’s slim hips, lips never once leaving San’s.

The deep, slow kiss is but a memory now, lust and greed for _more_ taking over as they part their lips and allow their tongues to twine in a dance only they know.

San's hips roll up, encouraging, and Wooyoung finally tugs the string. 

They part, panting, and Wooyoung is lost for words when he looks into San’s eyes. They’re heavy with desire, a visceral hunger swirling in dark irises. 

_Just take it,_ his gaze tells him. 

So Wooyoung does. 

He slides from San’s lap until he’s kneeling on the floor between his legs, looking up from beneath thick lashes. San’s face is flushed, hair mussed from where Wooyoung had run his hands through it, lips shiny and red from their kisses. 

Wooyoung preens. San looks like _that_ —panting and gorgeous—because of him. He did that to San. And now he wants to do so much more.

San lifts his hips without question when Wooyoung tugs at his shorts, bottom half left bare for Wooyoung to admire. 

San Jr. isn’t a stranger to him, but seeing it now under bright lights and not the faint dark of night is a whole different story. San is half-hard from just kissing Wooyoung, his shaft twitching against his stomach under his heavy gaze. And there, on his hip, is a tattoo Wooyoung’s never seen before. It’s small and delicate; a swirling, wingless dragon, poised mid-flight. It’s a familiar image, but Wooyoung can’t quite place where he’s seen it before.

The newly discovered tattoo is quickly forgotten, though, as he runs his fingers up San’s thighs, flesh hard under his grip. Wooyoung circles his fingers around his cock when he reaches it, running a digit just below the swollen head. San lets out a low gasp, hips jumping up to chase the touch. 

When he leans forward, the scent is overwhelming. There’s San’s earthy cologne, edged with chlorine and the musk of bare skin. Wooyoung’s nose nudges up the length of it, pressing soft kisses against the hardening cock before reaching the tip and allowing his tongue to taste him. 

It’s a kitten lick, a quick dart of his tongue against the sensitive head of San’s cock, but it elicits a delicious, deep moan from San’s chest.

Wooyoung wraps his lips around the tip, precum salty on his tongue as his hand works over San’s shaft in slow, deliberate strokes. It’s addicting, the weight of San in his mouth and the feel of him in his hand, and it only gets better as he slides further down his cock.

It’s wet and messy, San’s fingers tangling loosely in his hair as he bobs his head, kissing and licking every inch of San that will fit. His hand makes up for what he can’t fit, twisting around the base as he hollows out his cheeks. 

San watches him the whole time, eyelids heavy as he works his bottom lip between blunt teeth. Soft groans fall from kiss-bitten lips every time Wooyoung sucks just a little bit harder or swipes his tongue over just the right place. 

“Come here.” San’s voice is rough when he tugs Wooyoung’s wrist and pulls him up to straddle his lap. 

He crashes their lips together, licking his tongue into Wooyoung’s mouth and tasting himself on his tongue. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing Wooyoung,” he pants, resting his forehead against Wooyoung’s cheek. “But I’m not ready to cum yet. Upstairs?” 

Wooyoung nods, but his stomach begins to roil. San slides on his shorts and takes his hand, but each step up the stairs feels the slightest bit heavier. By the time they reach the top, Wooyoung’s feet feel like cinder blocks. 

San’s room is dim, only a lamp offering the slightest bit of light, but Wooyoung still feels exposed under the glare of it. It’s hard to focus on San’s kisses and the weight of his body on top of him as he’s pressed against the pillows because his mind is running a mile a minute. 

Will San like what he sees? Will he want Wooyoung? Will they go all the way?

They’ve seen each other shirtless before, but being completely naked in front of another is an entirely new thing. Every inch of him, every dip and curve, every scar and mark will be laid bare.

 _Will he like what he sees?_

God knows Wooyoung hasn’t for the past eighteen years. 

“Hey, Earth to Wooyoung?” 

San pokes his side as he lifts himself off of Wooyong’s body, which he hadn’t realized had stilled as his mind wandered. 

“Everything okay?” San asks, genuine concern lacing his voice. He twines their fingers together as he settles himself beside Wooyoung, resting their hands on Wooyoung’s belly.

Wooyoung hums, nodding, but San isn’t convinced. 

“We don’t have to do anything, you know? I’m good with just this.” San presses a quick kiss against his temple. 

Wooyoung shakes his head insistently. “No, I want this, I swear. I’m just… scared, I guess.”

San props himself up on an elbow, eyes shining as he looks down at Wooyoung. All his worries disappear, if only for a moment.

“I won’t hurt you, Wooyoung. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I promise.”

“It’s not that. It’s just… no one has really seen me naked before…”

San's eyes widen at that. “Wait, are you a virgin?”

Wooyoung’s face heats up in an instant, hands abandoning San’s to cover the ferocious flush of his cheeks. 

“No no no! Don’t be embarrassed!” San says, tugging gently at his fingers. Wooyoung grimaces, peeking up at him over his fists. 

“I can’t help it.” His voice sounds so weak. “I’m just worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“That you won’t like… this,” Wooyoung admits, waving a hand down at his body. 

San is silent for a beat, stilling as he stares down at Wooyoung, unbelieving. And then he’s leaning, kissing Wooyoung with every ounce of his being. This kiss is insistent, a simple press of lips. San pours himself into it and it knocks the wind from Wooyoung’s lungs. 

When he pulls back, San is panting, cheeks dusted pink.

“Wooyoung,” he starts, voice deep and rough. The single word, his name, sends pangs of longing through his veins. “You’re one of the most beautiful people I have ever had the blessing of knowing. There’s no body that you could ever have that I would dislike. At the end of it all, it’s _you._ And you are perfect, in every way.”

“I wish I could believe you,” Wooyoung whispers, voice cracking. 

San looks at him sadly. “I wish you could, too.”

Another soft kiss is placed against his lips. “You want to sleep?”

Wooyoung doesn’t. Not by a long shot. His body is tingling with want despite everything. 

He shakes his head. “I still want you, San.”

“I want you, too. So much it hurts.”

“Then take me. I’m all yours.”

And San does. He removes each piece of clothing gently, as though Wooyoung would break if he tugged too hard. As each inch of skin is revealed, he leans down to press warm, open-mouth kisses against it. 

Wooyoung arches in his arms when San reaches his nipples, sucking and biting gently until Wooyoung is clutching at his arms, begging for reprieve. His neck is scattered with love bites, deep purple marks San etches on him with tender lips. 

When San kisses just below his ear, he hears a ghost of a whisper. “You’re perfect, and you’re mine.” A lone tear escapes Wooyoung, and he hopes San doesn’t notice as he brushes it away.

San shifts to lay between Wooyoung's legs, nipping at his thighs as he places them over his shoulders. He covers his face again, but San tugs at his arm, curling their fingers together as he takes Wooyoung into his mouth.

It’s hot and tight and Wooyoung writhes under San, slave to the sensation. He takes Wooyoung all the way down to the hilt, and he cries out with pleasure. San hums around him, satisfied. The vibrations from San’s throat stokes the fire in Wooyoung’s belly, threatening to turn into an uncontrollable blaze.

There’s a click of a bottle cap, and then a warm, slick finger presses against Wooyoung’s hole. San works him open slowly, lips still wrapped around his cock to distract from the discomfort.

It isn’t so bad, Wooyoung thinks. The burn goes away quickly after each finger is added, replaced by a dizzying pleasure that makes his toes curl. 

San pulls away when Wooyoung is clutching at the sheets and calling his name over and over, voice cracking with desire. There’s a moment where he’s cold, San kneeling over him as he fits the condom over his cock. 

Wooyoung hadn’t even noticed the storm start, thunder rolling overhead and rain pattering against the window, a quiet song. 

And then he’s warm again as San leans over him, lining himself up. It burns when he pushes in, but not nearly as much as he’d expected. Wooyoung listens to the rain and counts his breaths between thunderclaps as San moves shallowly.

Then the burning disappears, replacing it with a world-shattering _fullness_. The realization that he and San are one hits him like a freight train, a whimper then a sob falling from his red lips. San holds him, whispering sweet nothings as he rocks into him slowly.

“Beautiful, Wooyoung,” he grunts beside Wooyoung’s ear. “You are so, so beautiful.”

Wooyoung writhes and grasps his shoulders, begging for more. San gives it to him, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the rain.

“S-San, so _good, too good_ ,” Wooyoung babbles, whimpering moans cascading from his mouth. “Please…”

San wraps a hand around him and strokes him gently, coaxing even more pleasure from his body. “San, ‘m gonna… I’m close.”

“Then cum,” San tells him, like it’s _that simple._

_Because maybe it is._

“Cum for me,” San murmurs amid hurried breaths against Wooyoung’s ear, and that’s when Wooyoung loses whatever is left of his inhibitions.

It’s blinding, and he gasps out as he spills himself over San’s fingers. He’s never felt anything quite like this; it leaves his body numb, but in the best way. His head is in the clouds, and his body is in San’s arms, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

San follows quickly after, spilling into the condom with quiet grunts against Wooyoung’s shoulder. Wooyoung rubs his back and runs a hand through his sweaty hair as he catches his breath, and when their eyes meet, Wooyoung feels like he’s shattering all over again. 

San gets them cleaned up, Wooyoung lying boneless in bed.

“How do you feel?” San asks, sliding his arm around Wooyoung’s waist.

There are a lot of things Wooyoung feels, but his brain has been reduced to mush and he has never felt so adored.

So he says the first thing he can think of.

“I feel like… I can be anything.”

He can feel San’s smile imprinting itself on the crown of his head.

When he drifts off, he’s wrapped in San’s embrace, face pressed against San’s chest. The rain still hasn’t let up, but he doesn’t mind.

Now whenever he hears the rain, Wooyoung knows he’ll think of San. He’ll think of this night, when San made him feel more beautiful than he had in years. Heavy droplets against the window will carry their sighs and moans, and powerful thunderclaps will make him think of San’s strength as he moved into Wooyoung over and over.

And in the whistling wind, their words will remain, a promise made in a dark night between two people who meant it with every fiber in their bodies.

_I am yours, and you are mine._

☼

When Yeosang finally shakes the dizzying cannabis-induced slumber, it’s not because his body has recovered. His eyes open and his throat is dry and everything _hurts_ but he finds himself smiling anyway.

That is, until his ears begin to function again and he hears a _sound_ penetrating the walls of Yunho’s house.

There’s a bottle of water left for him on the nightstand. He reaches over to retrieve it, feeling all the knots in his muscles tug with each of his movements, and as soon as he chugs half of it, that’s when the sound becomes clearer.

A storm has begun to rage outside, and somebody is moaning in the room next to him. Or, some _bodies_.

He comes to a pretty solid conclusion. After all, how could those two _not_ end up fucking after what he’d witnessed at the pool?

All the touching, the kissing, the passion, the _heat_ of it all. A true summer romance, if Yeosang has ever seen one. He’d watched it unfold right before his eyes, and now, before his ears.

The feeling from the pool rises in his stomach once again. He chugs the rest of his water in an attempt to drown it, but there’s another jump in his pants (hey, when did he get changed?) that he’s too aware of to ignore now. In the room adjacent, San and Wooyoung are having sex. Two _very_ attractive people who very clearly have a special connection and find solace in each other.

Yeosang wants that, too.

He wants it. He craves it. And _that’s_ certainly something he hasn’t felt before.

Before he knows it, his right hand is sneaking down past the waistband of his pajama pants and grabbing the outline of his growing cock through his briefs.

 _“I like you.”_ Wooyoung’s words stay ringing, almost taunting in his head. _“You’re so beautiful.”_

Strangely enough, those are the same words Yeosang hears spoken behind the wall. It’s San saying it this time, and Yeosang isn’t one to disagree. Wooyoung _is_ beautiful.

_A beautiful person thinks I’m beautiful._

Suddenly the blankets are too hot, too suffocating. Yeosang kicks himself out from under them, squeezing his cock even harder as he sticks the collar of his shirt between his teeth. Wooyoung even _sounds_ beautiful, his delicious moans and pleas filling Yeosang’s thoughts and the air around him. And _San_ , his deep grunts in contrast to Wooyoung’s moans, those hushed words of praise and comfort as he thrusts into Wooyoung. Yeosang can hear the occasional slap of skin, and it’s almost as if he himself can feel the jolt, the sudden burst of pleasure that comes with each thrust. Yeosang bites down even harder as he starts to stroke his cock through the fabric of his underwear.

“S-San, so _good, too good_ …”

Yeosang’s head is swimming, pounding. He’s grinding into his hand at this point, eyes screwed shut. “San… Wooyoung…” he finds himself whimpering. “I want it… I want it too…”

“San, ‘m gonna… I’m close.”

“Then cum.”

Yeosang’s entire body tenses as his orgasm rips through him, hot and smothered beneath fabric that someone will unfortunately have to clean up. Cum sticks to his hand and underwear, leaving an unpleasant feeling both on and inside him.

He just got off to the sound of two of his friends having sex.

His friends, who he’s known for a month. Friends that he’s never had before, who look at him and call him beautiful. Who see his face and his arm and much more than that, past the surface of his skin and into the fabric of his being. They see _him_. And they think he’s beautiful.

_If they think I’m beautiful… will they do it with me too?_

As all of them come down from their highs and Yeosang becomes painstakingly aware of the events that just transpired, he shakes himself, grabbing some tissues off the nightstand to clean himself with. God, he’s thirsty. And he feels disgusting. And groggy. And he kind of needs to piss.

While he’s in the bathroom, he hears the thudding of footsteps up the stairs. Must be Yunho and Mingi, or two intruders. But judging from the whispers and the giggles, he safely assumes it’s Yunho and Mingi. Yeosang finishes his business in the bathroom just in time to see the two figures disappear behind the master bedroom’s door, hand in hand.

He lets out a sigh as his weighty limbs carry him back to the guest room. Apart from the bed, the room is immaculate, nearly untouched, probably as a result of years of vacancy. A side effect of loneliness.

Alone, in a house that is too big for one person, in _one_ room, Yeosang feels so small. A mere speck in an infinite void, of too much noise and yet nobody to hear it.

He can only imagine how it is for Yunho.

☼

> _Today was a lot of firsts._
> 
> _My first B &E, my first hit from a joint… my first time laughing after 10 years. _
> 
> _I also had my first kiss, and it was with Yunho._ _He is right next to me now, asleep. He must be so tired after tonight._
> 
> _But god,_ _kissing Yunho was like jumping off a cliff… and learning you could fly._
> 
> _And now that I’m up here, I never want to come down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, we hope you liked it!  
> Drop a kudos and comment to let us know your thoughts :D
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
> shan: [twitter](https://twitter.com/useumssi) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/useumssiiii)


	6. Deserted Dreams and Tumultuous Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung doesn’t say much of anything, only holding Mingi close. Their hands are pressed together, fingers looped together in an endless tangle. An eternal bond. 
> 
> Yunho finds himself grateful again, that someone like Mingi has found someone like Wooyoung in his lifetime. Not just a best friend, but something of a soulmate. Someone who is bound to him with the same power that holds the moon to the earth, and the planets to the sun. 
> 
> Yunho hopes he finds the same thing, someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy this update! We would love a kudos/comment if you did 🥰
> 
> Warning for nightmares, past character death, mentions of blood/injury/death, and a minor existential crisis

It always starts the same, this dream. Mingi always feels it coming, a creeping cold dragging it’s fingers up his neck. But he can never wake up in time. So he’s trapped in a nightmare that’s a little _too_ detailed. Always a little _too_ real. 

And why wouldn’t it be?

It is a memory, after all. 

He’s in the backseat of the car, cloth seats soft under his palms. His parents are in the front, talking, laughing. 

Laughing with him, laughing at him. It seemed like whenever Mingi spoke, it brought them joy. So he spoke. A lot.

This day is no different than any other. His father is driving, his mother looking back at him from the passenger seat. And Mingi is in the back, talking about school and his new friends and how his new friends could never be better than Wooyoung.

“Wooyoung is my best friend,” Mingi says. “I love him the most in the whole world. After you guys, of course.”

His parents share a look, smiles crinkling the corners of their eyes. 

The light turns green, sending swathes of emerald over them. 

“Dad,” Mingi says, poking his father in the shoulder. 

“Yes, Mingi?” His dad is looking at him in the mirror, eyes an exact replica of his own. 

“Can Wooyoung and I go—”

Emerald becomes flooded with crimson as their small car is hit by _something_ —a truck, Mingi later finds out—and sends them spinning down the street. His father’s deep timbre and mother’s melodic tone rings through their car in jolted wails, both calling his name. The groan of folding metal and the tinkling of shattered glass accompanies them as the seatbelt locks him into place.

He can feel the stinging on his skin as stray shards of glass split his skin, the intense pain in his leg as it breaks. His mouth floods with blood, its metallic tang making him gag. When the car finally rolls to a stop, crimson fades until everything is black around the edges. He looks for his parents, and there they are, limp in the front seats. Their eyes are closed, the corners no longer crinkling with their smiles. 

Mingi thinks they look a lot like they’re sleeping.

Except for the bright streaks of red marring their faces and staining their clothes. 

He wants to scream out for them, to hear their voices one more time. He wants to say something, anything, to make them laugh just _one more time._ But it’s like it’s stuck.

His voice is stuck to the back of his throat, glued to the muscle but not even putting up a fight to get free.

Mingi’s eyes begin to close though he fights to keep them open, to keep his gaze on his parents in case they move or wake up or need him. The slithering black becomes spotty with blue and red, sirens blaring from far away, moving closer and closer until they may as well be sitting in his head, splitting his skull in half.

There are voices that he doesn’t recognize, people shouting things that his eight year old mind cannot begin to comprehend.

When they pull his father out, they shout out “massive head trauma.” He knows what “trauma” means, and he knows it’s not good. His eyes sting as tears prickle them, spilling over and mixing with the blood that runs down his cheeks and chin.

His mother is pulled out next, limp in the paramedic’s arms. “No breath sounds, and I can’t get a heartbeat.”

And Mingi knows what that means. He understands every word.

He’s pulled out last after he hears a shout of, “There’s a kid in the back!”

Mingi is buckled onto a stretcher, sharp pain shooting up his arm as IVs are shoved into place. It doesn’t really matter, he figures. That pain just mixes in with the rest. The fluids are cold as they’re pumped into his system, but that doesn’t matter either.

All he cares about are his parents, one of which is being strapped into a stretcher much like his own, and the other being zipped up in a body bag.

He wants to shout out for them. His voice can wake them up, he thinks. It always does.

His mouth opens and he _screams_. It’s visceral, gut-wrenching. It hurts his lungs and makes his throat raw. The paramedics grab his shoulders and hold him down, shushing him in what they probably think is a comforting way.

But he doesn’t care. Nothing matters except for just _waking them up._

He screams and screams until he can’t anymore, until his voice becomes scratchy and rough and the hinge of his jaw aches.

Mingi can feel something a little warmer being pushed into his veins, and then a panicked calm washes over him. His consciousness begins to fade, and he battles the drugs as they put him to sleep.

He tries to scream but this time it doesn’t work, his mouth open in a silent howl. And that’s when it all fades to a silent, blessed black.

If only the dream ended there.

But it never does.

Mingi has always thought that the next part of the nightmare is arguably worse than the first. It’s the most terrible version of sleep paralysis. His body feels like it’s full of lead, a block of stone on a soft mattress. There are wires on him and in him, pumping him full of drugs that are supposed to numb the pain. Only the physical, though. His mind and heart remain in complete anguish, trapped in a cage of bone that is no longer under his control.

The worst is the voices that come from nowhere and everywhere. There are so many piercing the dark veil of the state he’s in between sleep and waking.

“How’s he doing?”

“Stable for now.”

“Poor thing. Car got T-boned, mother died on site and the father passed away during surgery.”

Just like that, an orphan. Mingi is an orphan.

He wants to yell at them, tell them they’re wrong. His parents would never leave him. Not like this. But the drugs hold him in the dark, trapped with his own monsters.

“Is there any family who can take care of him if he wakes up?”

 _If._ His body is so broken that they don’t know if he’ll live or die. And Mingi isn’t sure he wants to live anymore. What is this life if he cannot share it with the people that love him and who he loves the most?

“No family. The parents’ will listed the father’s best friend as the kid’s guardian.”

“Oh god, do they even know what happened?”

“I heard they just arrived. They got a kid too, around this one’s age I think.”

_Wooyoung._

Wooyoung is _here._ And Wooyoung is going to see him like _this._

Some monitor begins to beep and the nurses curse under their breath.

“He’s tachycardic, what happened?”

“I don’t know, BP shot through the roof, too.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder but it feels _wrong._ Too big, nails too long. Like a claw. More monsters, coming to take more away from him.

The monitor screeches out its warning with a tinny, incessant dinging.

“Maybe he’s in pain?”

“We gotta get his blood pressure down, it’s too much for his heart.”

Mingi can feel it, but he can’t stop it. The monsters, the living nightmare is closing in on him and he wishes so much for it to just be over.

He wants his mom. He wants his dad. He wants everything to go back to the way it was.

Before he was just a broken body lying on a bed, and before his parents were lying cold in a morgue. Before he had to worry about never seeing them again, and before he didn’t have to think about where he would live or how he would survive without them.

He’s eight years old, and already his life feels like it’s over. An irreparable mess that his tiny hands can’t fix.

And then, there’s another tiny hand. One that slots right in his own, as if it were made to fit there. It’s covered in the sticky rubber of a too-big glove, but Mingi knows who it is.

His voice is muffled by a mask as Wooyoung whispers to him.

“I’m here, Mingi. I’m right here.”

There are silent sobs in the background, probably Wooyoung’s parents.

But Wooyoung doesn’t break. Not once.

He clutches Mingi’s hand in his. One broken, and the other strong enough for the both of them.

“I’ll never leave you. You’re safe now.”

The monitor slows down before it stops shrieking altogether.

One monster conquered, but still so many left to defeat. The ones made of tubes and wires, and the one clamped down on his leg, holding it in place. The ones made of the deepest black and the brightest crimson that remind him of all he’s lost. The ones that have no face and no body, that remind him that his future is up in the air and that he has nothing left.

Too many monsters in the dark in which he’s trapped.

He’s scared. He’s so, so _scared._

_I’ll never leave you._

Wooyoung’s words feel like a promise. And best friends don’t break promises.

_You’re safe now._

Mingi believes it.

As long as he’s with Wooyoung, and as long as Wooyoung is there to hold his hand, he’s safe. The monsters don’t disappear, and Mingi fears they never will. But at least now he has someone to fight them with.

☼

Yunho is jolted awake by a raspy gasp in the pale light of his room. His bed is warm, for once, a body lying close to his, skin pressed against skin. Except the skin that’s not his is damp with sweat, and the arm pressed against him shaking like a leaf.

Yunho sits up, dizzy from the movement but reaches for Mingi anyway, gathering him into his arms. His eyes are red, cheeks swollen and soaked in salty tears. Even in the soft glow of a premature dawn, Yunho can see the terror in his gaze, the unadulterated agony caused by something Yunho cannot see, touch, nor hear. 

Mingi’s whimpers are soul-shattering, the magnitude of them forceful in a room that stood still not moments ago. Yunho feels his fingers tangle into the material of his shirt, and he pulls Mingi’s trembling body even closer. He looks so small like this, curled in a ball and crying silently into Yunho’s chest.

And Yunho feels so powerless, so pathetic. There’s nothing he can do save for running his hand through Mingi’s hair and down his back; there are no quelling words he can offer, no reassurance that everything will be okay because, hell, he doesn’t even know what’s wrong.

Yunho presses his lips to Mingi’s damp forehead and whispers against it. 

“I’m here, Mingi. I’m here for you.”

It’s true. That’s all Yunho can give Mingi: himself. It’s all he has to give. And he hopes to god that it’s enough. 

When Mingi looks up at him again, the terror is gone, but it’s replaced by something that rips Yunho’s heart to shreds. Sorrow that Yunho cannot begin to understand, put there by a loss so profound that he begins to break just witnessing it. 

So Yunho pulls him closer so Mingi doesn’t see the tears that fall from the corners of his eyes, kissing his forehead and cheeks, whispering the same thing over and over.

“I’m here.”

_I’m here, I’m here, I’m here._

The crying doesn’t stop, though. Neither does the shaking. 

Mingi grapples at his shirt, desperate, so Yunho kisses him harder. But nothing _works._

There’s a sound, then, that isn’t a sob, or a gasp, or a whimper.

It’s a word. One that doesn’t come from Yunho’s lips.

“W-Woo—,” Mingi rasps, just above a whisper. His voice is still deep, but it’s raw now. It’s laced with notes of pure despair, a foil to the joy that it had rung with the previous night. “Woo-Wooyoung.”

Yunho breaks then, but Mingi doesn’t see. His eyes are closed, face pressed into Yunho’s heaving chest, and Yunho cries silently into Mingi’s sweat-matted hair. 

He still smells of warm rain and the salty ocean.

“Okay, Mingi. I’ll get Wooyoung for you. I swear.”

It takes him a moment to untangle himself from Mingi’s long arms, but he does and rushes to his door, but not before turning on a lamp, the white cast of it bright and calming. Mingi is huddled under the covers, and it takes every fiber of will in his body for Yunho to turn and walk to San’s room.

He pushes open the door as he wipes stray tears from his cheeks, flicking on the light with no regard for what San and Wooyoung may or may not be wearing. 

Wooyoung flinches awake, chest bare when he sits up, blanket slipping from his body. San stirs, but just barely.

“Is something wrong?” Wooyoung mumbles, voice rumbling with sleep. Yunho can’t even appreciate how he looks like this, hair mussed and collarbone scattered with lovebites. All he sees is Mingi’s body, quivering in his bed. All he can hear are broken sobs coming from an even more broken man. 

“I-it’s Mingi.” Yunho’s voice cracks as he says it, and Wooyoung’s eyes widen. He knows.

Wooyoung launches himself from bed, no longer caring whether San wakes or not. He gathers the fabric of his sweatpants from the floor, sliding them over his legs in record time and is pushing past Yunho before he can even register it. 

When Yunho gets back to his room, Wooyoung is already wrapped around Mingi. He stands in the door, feeling so much like an invader in his own room. Yunho debates leaving them, allowing them this moment that feels too intimate for Yunho to watch. But then an arm escapes the confines of Wooyoung’s embrace and the heavy blanket, stretching its long, bony fingers towards Yunho. 

Mingi cranes his neck, pleading silently for Yunho to come _closer._ And who is he to say no?

He crawls into his bed, a king-sized monstrosity that has never felt so full before. Mingi is slotted between him and Wooyoung, warm back pressed against Yunho’s chest as he nuzzles himself beneath Wooyoung’s chin. 

Yunho’s arms slip around Mingi’s waist, pressed between Wooyoung’s bare skin and Mingi’s trembling body. He’s considerably more calm than before, but teardrops still stain his face, drying streaks quickly washed away by fresh ones.

Yunho isn’t enough. He knows that now, but it’s okay. He feels grateful to just be _something_. Someone Mingi can reach for when his mind and body shatters, someone who he’s willing to let hold him when he needs it. 

So he keeps whispering those same two words, this time against the nape of Mingi’s neck.

 _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here._

Wooyoung doesn’t say much of anything, only holding Mingi close. Their hands are pressed together, fingers looped together in an endless tangle. An eternal bond. 

Yunho finds himself grateful again, that someone like Mingi has found someone like Wooyoung in his lifetime. Not just a best friend, but something of a soulmate. Someone who is bound to him with the same power that holds the moon to the earth, and the planets to the sun. 

Yunho hopes he finds the same thing, someday. 

“You okay?” Wooyoung whispers after long minutes, long enough that Mingi has stopped shaking and gasping. The tears fall silently now, but they’re still there. Yunho wants to kiss them away. 

Mingi nods, sighing heavily. 

“The same dream?”

Another nod, this one a little hesitant. Wooyoung mirrors Mingi’s sigh and squeezes his hand.

“You’re safe now, Mingi. I’ll never leave you.”

Yunho feels the gravity of the promise in his very bones. It’s written in the stars. Wooyoung and Mingi, connected by more than just their hands.

A knock sounds from across the room. The door has stood open, but San still leans against the frame, waiting for an invitation inside. Yeosang stands behind him holding a water bottle, clear plastic dripping with condensation.

“Mind if we join you?”

Wooyoung looks at Mingi, who nods, shifting from Wooyoung’s arms. 

“Not at all.”

He rearranges himself as he pleases, and Yunho lets him. They end up in a pile by the headboard, a warm mass of bodies squeezed into a space only meant for two or three, but Yunho has never felt more comfortable. Mingi is pretty much in his lap, knees pulled up to his chest. Wooyoung is leaning against him, hand still locked with Mingi’s.

“Is everything okay?” Yeosang’s voice is clear but soft as he holds the bottle out to Mingi. The bed dips as he shifts closer, moving when Wooyoung moves his legs to offer him more space.

Mingi takes a deep swig from the bottle, nearly emptying it. Then he shakes his head.

 _No._

Mingi isn’t okay, and Yunho wants nothing more than to just _fix_ it. 

“What happened?” San’s voice is the most gentle that Yunho’s ever heard it, deep but quiet, as if speaking too loud may scare Mingi.

Wooyoung looks at Mingi again, asking a question with his eyes.

 _I don’t need to speak for him to understand me._ That’s what Mingi had told Yunho last night; he thought he’d understood then, but now he realizes he understands nothing. Not really.

Wooyoung understands, and Yunho can only try.

“He gets nightmares,” Wooyoung starts, still looking at Mingi. “It used to be worse when we were kids. Almost every day, I think.”

Yunho’s chest tightens, lungs struggling to catch a breath. Mingi used to wake up like this every day? The thought of him waking up gasping and sobbing, only a child… it breaks Yunho’s heart. What he must’ve suffered, alone and in the dark, Yunho cannot even begin to imagine.

“It’s always the same dream, according to him. A memory.”

“A memory?” San asks, moving between Yunho’s splayed legs.

“A memory… of the day Mingi almost died. The day that his parents _did_ die.”

Yunho’s breath leaves his body in a heavy _woosh._

He had no idea. None of them did.

“I-I’m so sorry, Mingi.” Yeosang’s voice trembles now, looking at Mingi wide-eyed.

Mingi only shrugs, smiling softly. 

“It was a long time ago,” Wooyoung continues. “Ten years, now. It happened when we were eight.”

“How?” Yunho somehow manages to get the word out. He doesn’t trust himself to say much more, barely holding back his tears.

“Car crash. Truck driver ran a red and… well, you know what happened. They didn’t make it, but Mingi did. Just barely.”

“That’s fucking awful,” San whispers. 

“It was. He was in a coma for a few weeks, but I visited him when I could. Talked to him, read to him, told him about his parents’ funerals. How fucked up is that? That he couldn’t go to his own parents’ funerals?” 

No one answers Wooyoung, but he wasn’t really asking a question, Yunho supposes. They just sit and wait for him to finish telling Mingi’s story. The story that the boy in his lap can’t tell himself. Not yet.

Wooyoung clears his throat before continuing. “Turns out he could hear everything. In the coma, I mean. The drugs were keeping him under, but he could hear and feel everything. My parents were trying to figure out how to tell him that both of his parents had died, but when he woke up, he already knew. He’d basically been trapped in his own body for weeks, just listening without being able to see or say anything… and after everything, he came to live with us. Our dads were best friends, you know. Just like us.”

Another squeeze of his hand.

“He used to speak before the accident. He used to talk _a lot._ ” Mingi huffs his quiet little chuckle, and Wooyoung giggles. Yunho smiles into Mingi’s hair. It would be nice, he thinks, to hear Mingi talk for hours on end. He doesn’t know what Mingi would sound like, but he knows that he’d be addicted to it, like a drug with a constant high. 

“But after he came home, he just… couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter back then. Hell, it doesn’t even matter now. I was just happy he was alive.” 

“I’m happy you’re alive, too,” Yeosang says.

“Me, too,” Yunho murmurs.

“Me, three.” San grasps Mingi’s knee, squeezing gently before letting his hand fall to his side. 

“It’s been a while since he’s had the dream. A couple months.” Wooyoung looks to Mingi for confirmation, and he nods. Then he pokes Wooyoung, pointing to his phone on the nightstand.

It clicks when Mingi swipes it open and flicks to his notes.

_‘I’m happy Yunho was here this time.'_

Wooyoung reads it and smiles. 

“I’m happy he was here, too.”

 _‘He made me feel safe._ _He always makes me feel safe.'_

Wooyoung’s smile turns into a blazing beam when he looks up at Yunho.

“He makes me feel safe, too.”

“Me, too.”

“Me, three.”

☼

For some reason, the rain has decided to present itself _now_ , during the peak of midsummer. When rain rages through the area, it’s rare, but it hits _hard_ , gusts of wind whirring and stirring outside and sending the palm trees and flowers into a violent tango. Even so, it’s a comforting scene to Yunho, especially now that he has someone to share his normally desolate house with.

San and Yunho watch the storm from the raised platform, pseudo-flames dancing off to the side as the wind and rain make the ocean churn. It’s quiet now, the others already having left before the storm rolled in full force, but Yunho finds he doesn’t mind it as much when he has San pressed beside him on the downy couch. Their minds are pleasantly buzzed, three shots of tequila and one “surprise cocktail” in.

“Hey, San,” Yunho says, “I seriously don’t mean to pry, but what _is_ going on between you and Wooyoung? Are you two a thing?”

San’s lips twitch into a smile, though he shrugs. “We’re not, like, a _thing_ thing. I think both of us are painfully aware that one summer isn’t a lot of time to really, y’know… get to know somebody, let alone start a romantic relationship."

“Would you date him if you could?” Yunho asks, even though San _very well_ could date Wooyoung if he really wanted to.

San sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Well, how do you feel about him?”

San’s mouth turns up into a full, sentimental smile. One that Yunho hasn’t seen in a little while. “He’s… extraordinary.”

“You think so too, huh?”

“All of you are,” San whispers. “If I’m being honest.”

Yunho turns to look at him. His pierced tongue briefly pokes past his lips, pursed as if in deep thought. “I’ve never met anybody like you guys,” San goes on. “I’ve always been around the ‘bad kids,’ you know? I inserted myself into a social group that I belonged in… or one that I _thought_ I belonged in.”

“Because it was the label that people slapped onto you. ‘Dangerous.’”

San nods solemnly, his smile disappearing. “I did what troublemakers do. I did what I could to fit what everyone said about me, because what was the point in trying to prove them wrong? Everything I did… no matter what I did or didn’t do, it all felt pointless. Nobody was going to see me for who I really was.”

He bites his bottom lip, sucking the rings into his mouth. His eyes fall shut, a pained expression flashing across his face. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Yunho scoots over to put an arm around his shoulders.

Never has he seen San like this. Not since the thinking place, but even then, something about San here seems more vulnerable. Like the child who was still figuring out who he was but never got the chance to. His shoulders are hunched in, as muscular as they are, his face crestfallen as opposed to the haughty smirk he usually wears.

“It’s like they took over my life, Yunho.” San swallows an enormous lump, eyes squeezing shut even harder, and Yunho knows why. “I lost my life to the people who threw me in a box and suffocated me. I altered my appearance to fit that of your stereotypical ‘troublemaker,’ but that’s just scratching the surface. Trust me, Yunho, I like my piercings and my tattoos and the clothes I wear, but who I am as a _person_?” He scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t fucking know anymore. What am I doing with my life? What am I gonna do, where am I gonna go? I don’t _know_ , Yunho. I don’t know, and… and I’m _scared_.”

And just like that, Yunho witnesses San crumble for the first time. 

“But I suppose… maybe I did this to myself. _I’m_ the one who beat up those kids. I earned _myself_ that title. I fucked myself over, and—”

“Stop, San.” Yunho gently squeezes San’s shoulder as his head falls into his neck, tears dripping onto his shirt. “You did what you had to do to defend yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Deep down, I know that. I think I do, anyway. But _I’m_ the one who took it in the direction I did. _I’m_ the one who decided to fit in with the troublemakers of the school. Maybe if I’d done things my own way instead of forcing myself into a category that was never _me_ to begin with, I…”

Yunho rubs San’s shoulder up and down as another broken sob wracks his body. “San, it’s not too late, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re saying these things as if you’re never going to discover who you are or what your dreams or ambitions are. You’re not as far gone as you seem to think you are.” Yunho’s hand drifts up to San’s hair, petting it in comforting strokes. “You’re done with high school. You’re out of those woods. You’re here with us now, and even though it might be temporary…”

 _It_ is _temporary._

But Yunho doesn’t let himself think about that right now.

“...you’re not just some dangerous kid with tattoos and piercings who beats up people for no reason. You’re a good person, San. Don’t you know how we feel about you?”

San lifts his head. With the amber glow of the fireplace, his eyes appear even redder, and the tears leave gleaming streaks on his cheeks.

“H-how you feel about me?”

Yunho smiles, his fingers curling around the back of San’s neck. “All of us. We _see_ you, San. Even if you don’t know who you are… even if _we_ don’t know exactly, either, we like you the way you are now. We like you for _you_. And we don’t see who you seem to see whenever you look in the mirror.”

San’s eyes crinkle at the corners when his smile resurfaces. Still pained, still melancholy. But _real_.

“You see, I knew… I knew I would get along with Wooyoung. When we first met, I asked him if he was a local. He said no, and then asked me if I was a local, and I asked him, ‘do I look like a local?’ Because, y’know, I look like _this_ —” San motions up and down his body. “—I assumed he’d say no. But he didn’t. Instead, he asked me what a local is supposed to look like. Like he _knows_ that one’s appearance doesn’t speak to who they are. And it was like… he understood. And then I met all of you, and you all know. You guys understand. Yeosang, Mingi, you… all of you _know_. And you _understand_.”

San says it twice, as if their understanding of his pain would vanish. As if they would leave him.

_I’m not going anywhere._

“You guys see me with brand new eyes and open minds and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the life I lost.”

San’s voice trembles towards the end until it tapers off altogether, falling into a litany of sobs. He collapses straight into Yunho as his emotions break through the walls of years upon years of loneliness, stacked on top of each other like concrete bricks.

And they are the wrecking ball that demolishes it.

Yunho can feel his chest twisting, tears of his own springing in the corners of his eyes as he wraps his other arm around San’s quivering frame. He presses a kiss to the crown of San’s head, hair reminiscent of smoke and lemon. “San, you’ll never be alone,” he whispers. “I hope you know that.”

“Neither will you, Yunho,” San whispers back. He raises his head as well as his hand, up to Yunho’s cheek. It burns with desire. “As long as you have us, you’ll never be alone again.”

_Again._

Yunho doesn’t even get the chance to speak before San leans in, gently cradling his face with fingers rough from misuse, and kisses him.

He wonders if Wooyoung felt like this too. If Wooyoung’s heart did kickflips in his chest, if San stole his breath away, if the piercings felt cool against his lips. And _fuck_ , when San’s tongue piercing brushes his bottom lip, he almost lets out a moan. He grips the back of San’s head harder, pulling him closer until the heat from their breaths and bodies melds together.

San’s mouth definitely proves experienced as his tongue maneuvers meticulously, feeling Yunho’s out with care and caution. Yunho lets himself fall back onto the arm of the sofa, one hand remaining on the back of San’s neck while the other rests on his waist. San’s weight presses down on him, one hand stuck up Yunho’s shirt, the other on his face.

“Is this okay?” San pulls away to say.

“Fuck, of course it is,” is Yunho’s response, and San chuckles, his deft, calloused fingers continuing to crawl up his torso before splaying out across his pec.

Tweaking one of Yunho’s nipples, San descends Yunho’s face, peppering kisses down his cheek and nipping at his jaw before latching onto his neck. Yunho’s mouth falls open, hips bucking up as an instinctive response. The hand on San’s hip squeezes the firm skin there before ducking under his sweatpants.

“Commando?” Yunho remarks, chuckling.

“What? I have no use for underwear in this house.” San glances down. “Pretty sure you’re commando too, you hypocrite.”

“Touché.”

San hums against Yunho’s neck, biting gently before tugging on the hem of Yunho’s shirt, urging it off of him. San strips himself of his own before lowering himself down again, pressing their chests together as he connects their lips again. Yunho’s large hands disappear beneath his sweatpants, kneading the firm, muscular skin of his ass. A filthy moan falls from San’s mouth and into Yunho’s as he grinds against Yunho’s crotch. As he rolls his hips, Yunho bucks up, the bulges in their sweatpants becoming much more prominent.

“What are you so fucking hot for?” San groans as his lips attack Yunho’s defined chest.

“You should be asking yourself that,” Yunho quips back, his slender fingers finding their way back into San’s jet black locks.

San grunts a response, but Yunho’s ears malfunction as San grabs his cock all of a sudden, giving it a tight squeeze and a tug. God, it’s been so long since Yunho’s had some action, and it’s starting to show. A tiny wet patch has begun to surface through the gray of his sweatpants. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone commando tonight.

It’s not like it matters that much, though. San yanks Yunho’s pants down, freeing his cock as it springs up, head glistening with precum. “Sheesh, is _every_ part of you big?” San jokes, cracking a grin as he wraps his hand around the base. He swipes his tongue under the head, the ball digging into the thin, sensitive skin.

“Oh, _fuck_ , San... your fucking piercing is going to drive me insane,” Yunho moans, pulling San’s hair gingerly.

San laughs soft and breathy, rolling the ball over Yunho’s slit before engulfing the head, suckling gently as he circles his tongue around it. Yunho’s mouth hangs perpetually open, wanting nothing more than to grab San’s head with both hands and push him further down his length.

But San, that unpredictable bastard, sinks down the entirety of his cock until the tip is against the back of his mouth and even further down his throat, that unholy piercing pressing up against his cock somewhere in the middle. Yunho lets out a deep, throaty groan as San holds himself there, pulling up just to breathe, a long strand of saliva following. “Fucking _hell_ , San, where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“Comes with a lot of experience and practice,” San says hoarsely before sinking back down on Yunho’s cock.

With San working his hand and mouth with finesse and precision, it doesn’t take long for Yunho to climax, sending hot spurts of cum down San’s throat. He swallows contently, tongue darting out across his bottom lip as if to make a statement of sorts, before crashing his lips to Yunho’s again.

Yunho flips him over with ease, landing on top of him. “Wanna see _my_ experience and practice?” he asks.

“Is that even a fucking question?” San scoffs jokingly before shimmying out of his sweatpants. “Though I don’t think I’ll last long, like, at all.”

“That’s okay, I tend to have that effect on people.”

“Not all of us can be insanely hot, you know.”

Yunho just chuckles before licking a stripe up San’s cock, his enormous hand nearly covering the entirety of it.

San quickly learns that Yunho’s “experience and practice” is _wet_.

He might not be able to deepthroat, but the mere existence of his salivary glands is enough to soak San’s cock in his spit as he bobs his head up and down in tandem with his hand, and that alone is enough to make San cum. His hips lift off the sofa as he does, both of his hands buried in Yunho’s hair as he cums down his throat.

“Fucking hell, Yunho. How many blowjobs have you given in your day?” San asks as Yunho collapses beside him.

“I dunno. Are you asking for how many times or how many people? Because the numbers are _very_ different.”

“Try me.”

“People… I’d say maybe thirty. Times… probably more than twice that.”

San’s jaw drops, floundering for words. “I-I mean… that’s not _that_ surprising…”

Yunho just laughs. “And you, Sannie?”

“Uh… I’ve blown like, five guys. Six including you. As for times… fifteen?” San chuckles, running his hand down his face. “Shit, Yunho. How are you so fucking perfect?”

Yunho sighs, his hand coming up to caress San’s cheek once more. He gazes into San’s eyes, wondering what San looked like on the day that steered his life off course, if his eyes held the same ferocity, the same intensity as they do now. If the San back then would be proud of the San now.

And Yunho thinks, _I am not perfect._

And he knows that San is aware of the exact same thing, because San has enough awareness to know that perfection is impossible to achieve.

But he doesn’t say that.

Instead, he lets San’s words linger above them as their eyes wander, as they look at each other in wonder and curiosity. They read each other like books, two souls that both know what it’s like to be _alone_. Yunho wonders about the people that San has seen, the people he has lain with, the people who have seen through San’s troubles and fears. If there have been people like that at all.

Yunho runs his thumb over San’s cheek with a feathery touch. Minuscule bumps litter his skin, peach fuzz and baby hairs still present. He wonders how many people have been this close to San besides him and Wooyoung and how many people _will_ be this close to him in the future. If there will ever be others who know San, who _see_ San like they do.

“San, you are incredible,” Yunho whispers.

San blinks, his eyelids noticeably heavy. He closes them and places his hand over Yunho’s, holding it there.

“Thank you for showing me what it’s like,” he says.

_What it’s like to be incredible. What it’s like to be seen._

_What it’s like to have people who see you as more than just a body, a novelty, some type of prize to be won, or just a shadow of who you truly are._

_What it’s like to have a friend._

_Thank you._

☼

“Yunho, can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe this isn’t my place, but… it’s about Wooyoung.”

“Okay.” Yunho has a feeling he knows what it’s about.

“There was a shirt he wanted to get back at the mall. Would you mind taking me back there so I can get it for him?”

Yunho tilts his head curiously. “Oh, uh, sure. As a surprise gift or something?”

“You could say that. He… didn’t want to buy it, ‘cause it was ‘for girls.’”

“Ah.” Yunho nods understandingly.

“I want him to feel beautiful in his own skin,” San says. “I want him to feel the way I feel about him. How… we _all_ feel about him.”

Suddenly, Yunho’s face lights up as a neon memory manifests before his eyes. He gasps and sits up abruptly.

A city. He’d gone there once with a group of people from a neighborhood downtown. Seonghwa had rented a limousine for six people. A one and a half hour drive later, they’d hopped out of the luxury vehicle and onto the blue streets of a bustling city alight with electric colors, vibrant pinks and violets and greens, signs strung up window to window, door to door. They flickered brilliantly, twinkling like stars. And in that city lies the memory of one of the best nights Yunho has ever had.

A night full of drinks, sex, glitter, and beautiful people. Extravagant makeup and gaudy outfits that nobody would dare walk the everyday streets in, but these streets were different. Everywhere Yunho looked, he saw people being unabashedly _themselves_ , and no one paid any mind because _everyone_ there was doing it.

“I know what we’re doing this weekend,” Yunho declares.

San raises an eyebrow. “We’ll go to the mall, yeah. But we’re taking Yeosang too,” Yunho says.

“Um… what about—”

“It’s going to be a surprise,” Yunho says, suppressing the urge to burst into song and dance. Excitement is thrumming in his bones, as if he can feel the bass pulsing into them again. “I know this place. A place that I think _everyone_ will like. But first, we have to do some shopping.”

San pauses, visible hesitation on his face.

“So… what exactly is this place?”

☼

To Yunho’s surprise (and San’s), Yeosang is considerably more enthusiastic to join them for an outing than the first couple of times. He bounds to Yunho’s car before he’s even thrown the vehicle in park, barely waving at his parents when they see him off from the porch.

Yunho explains the plan on the car ride to the mall, and Yeosang is practically buzzing in the backseat. His grin is wide, all of his teeth shining in the rearview mirror. And his birthmark is on full display, crinkling by his eyes. 

“So you in?” San asks, winking at Yeosang from the passenger seat.

A barely-there blush dusts Yeosang’s full cheeks as he nods.

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“And remember, we’re keeping this a surprise from Wooyoung! Mingi knows, too,” Yunho chirps, already feeling the pieces of his plan fall into place.

Yeosang pretends to zip his lips and throw the key away.

“He won’t hear about it from me, promise.”

“Alright team,” Yunho claps his hands after he pulls into a parking space. 

“Operation Neon City is officially in action.”

☼

Wooyoung is scared, to say the least, when an offer for a late-night movie at Yunho’s place turns into a spectacle that seems to consist of him sitting alone on the couch while the other four stand in front of him, bouncing on their heels with excitement.

“Uh, can I ask what this is about?” Wooyoung tries, although he’s not too sure if he really wants to know. 

Yunho is the first to speak. “So, we have a plan for this weekend.”

“We?” Clearly this ‘we’ hadn’t included Wooyoung since hasn’t the slightest clue what they could be so excited about. Yunho hasn’t led them astray just yet, but still he can’t help but feel apprehensive. 

“Yes, we. There’s this city an hour away, and I’ve only been there once, but I think you’re gonna love it,” Yunho all but squeals. 

“A city?”

“A city.”

“Is this not a city?”

Yunho snorts. “Not by a long shot. I’m talking skyscrapers, giant billboards and clubs on every corner. A _city._ ”

“Okay,” Wooyoung trails off, quirking an eyebrow. “And what’s so special about this city?”

“Here, let me show you,” Yunho announces with a flourish of his arms, his gigantic screen lighting up in a shower of neon. 

It takes Wooyoung a moment to register what _exactly_ it is that he’s looking at, but it clicks after a moment of studying the screen.

“You made a _Powerpoint?_ " 

“Yes, I did.” Yunho puffs out his chest, clearly proud of his handiwork. 

_‘i helped!’_

“This seems like a lot of work to just head down to the city.” 

“That’s because this isn’t just gonna be any trip. It’s going to be the night of a lifetime! Sex, booze, and _so_ much glitter.”

Now Wooyoung is equal parts confused and scared, but he’s leaning more towards confused. Why would Yunho need to make a slideshow presentation to get him to come clubbing? 

“That’s a nice elevator pitch man, but was the powerpoint necessary?”

“Fuck yes it was, so just sit back and enjoy.” 

Yunho produces a clicker from his pocket, and Wooyoung is not at all surprised. 

He is shocked, however, by what he sees on the first slide. 

It’s simple, no words or titles. Just a picture that fades in with an obnoxious transition. It’s shitty quality, probably taken by inebriated hands, but the image sharpens the more Wooyoung looks at it.

Yunho is there, smack dab in the center, arms thrown around two absolutely _gorgeous_ men. The picture is dark and bright at the same time, their alcohol flushed faces lit up with stripes of neon, red, green and blue. Behind them is a bright sign in flowing script. ‘Sunrise’, it reads.

But that’s not what catches Wooyoung’s attention. 

First, it’s the man on Yunho’s right, the one holding the camera. His smile is blinding, as he laughs mid-shot. And his lips… they’re painted a cherry red. His eyes are smoked out with the most beautiful smokey eye Wooyoung’s ever seen. And his shoulders, god… they’re broad, but they look so delicate as white lace hangs from them, giving him a dangerous yet angelic likeness. 

The other man draped under Yunho’s arm is considerably more colorful, eyes painted in rainbow swathes. His tongue pokes out between glossy, glittery lips and Wooyoung feels all his breath leave his body. 

And he yearns. He yearns so badly to be those men, though he’s never met them before. To be so happy, to be so _free._ To be who he wants, unapologetically. 

He can feel his eyes become dry as he stares and stares, never wavering from the picture should it only be a figment of his imagination. He wants to burn it into his memory, a reminder, a _dream._ Something just a little more than an arm’s length away—out of reach, but just barely.

“What is this, Yunho?” Wooyoung whispers, still unable to tear his eyes away. 

“This,” Yunho points the clicker at the screen which, of course, has a laser pointer, “is Seonghwa.” The red dot flies to the dangerous angel. “And this is Hongjoong.” Now it circles the man with the rainbows in his eyes. 

“Seonghwa took us out to this city last time he was in town, and it was one of the best nights of my life,” Yunho says, earnest. “Didn’t know about it until then, and I’ve lived here all my life. It’s like entering a new fucking dimension. Everyone was so wild, so free. And I wanna take you guys there this weekend. Because I think you deserve to be free, too.”

Wooyoung looks down at his hands, feeling the teardrops begin to gather in his eyes. Yunho doesn’t seem bothered by it, simply clicking to the next slide. This one does have text. 

“So as you can see, the pros are extensive,” Yunho presents. Wooyoung can’t help but laugh at the poorly made chart. “You have an 80% chance of getting laid, a 65% chance of getting pulled up on stage by a drag queen, and a 100% chance of having an amazing fucking time.” The cons list is empty, save for a single point: “The hangover fucking _kills._ ”

The next slide is much like the first, except this time it’s a video. The bass vibrates the floor as Yunho’s surround system is turned on full blast, filling his large house with sounds of a raucous club. Yunho is filming this time, whooping at the camera before flipping it around and panning across the packed floor. So many colors and people, so much to take in. It’s almost overwhelming, but Wooyoung finds himself wanting to just jump into the screen, underdressed as he is. 

_These are my people. They’re all like me._

Finally Yunho focuses on a couple in front of him. Hongjoong and Seonghwa, grinding together to an indiscernible beat. Seonghwa’s lipstick is smudged, and it’s easy to see why when Hongjoong turns his head and pulls him in for a deep kiss, right there in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Wooyoung eyes flit to San, only for a moment. He’s watching the screen too, but the moment Wooyoung’s gaze lands on him, he turns his head, almost as if he could feel it. 

“As you can see,” Yunho’s overly-excited voice pulls him away, “it’s a fun fucking time.”

The next slide fades into view. It’s another list, this time labeled ‘What You Will Need.’ Yunho begins to read it out point by point. 

“First, you’re gonna need a sexy outfit. Something slutty, but not too slutty, and stretchy enough to drop it low in.” Yunho happily demonstrates what he means by ‘dropping it low.’

“Next, makeup. Glitter galore. The night won’t be complete unless we’re finding glitter in our assholes next week. I was _severely_ underdressed last time, and I plan to make up for it.” This statement is followed by a wink at no one in particular. 

“Last, but certainly not least, we need an open mind and a can-do attitude!” 

_Easier said than done._

The presentation ends with a bow from Yunho and an expectant stare. All eyes are on him, waiting for his response. 

Wooyoung sighs. He wants to go, so badly. But every time he wants to say yes, every time the word sits at the tip of the tongue, ready to roll off, his mind throws him another reason why this is a _very_ bad idea. 

“I don’t even have anything to wear,” he tries weakly. 

“We got that covered. San?” 

San moves over to him and settles a plastic bag into his lap. He vaguely remembers the logo printed across the shiny pink material, but it’s only when he pulls out the first item that he’s hit with the memory.

It’s that top. The one of mesh and silk and roses. The one he’d eyed and walked away from despite how beautiful it was, and how badly he’d wanted to feel it on his skin. Now it’s here, hanging from his fingers. 

“We went back and got it for you,” San explains, plopping down next to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I couldn’t go another day without seeing how fucking hot it’ll look on you.” 

Wooyoung’s cheeks flame, but he turns to the side anyway, pressing a hard kiss against San’s lips. He’s reminded of everything San said to him that day—that what’s between your legs doesn’t define what you wear, and that it’s silly to even think so. He’d thought about it more than he would have liked, but he began to realize that San was right. And now, the image of Seonghwa and Hongjoong and countless other clubbers wearing whatever the hell they wanted to is burned into his mind, and he so badly wants to _be_ them.

“Thank you,” he whispers against the soft flesh and warm metal. 

“Anytime.”

There is more sitting in the bottom of the bag: a pleated leather skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh and a pair of slinky fishnet tights, all black.

“I picked those out myself,” San says, voice low. 

“And I picked these,” Yunho tosses a box at Wooyoung. Inside is a pair of heeled ankle boots. Black again, with gold accents. The heel is wide, and not too tall, leather to match his skirt. 

He runs his finger over the cool material. They’re… perfect. 

“You like?”

“Very much,” he breathes, unable to catch the tremble in his voice. “Thank you.”

“No problem. And for makeup, we have Yeosang.” Yunho waves towards the boy who’d been standing silently in the corner, watching the flurry of emotions cross Wooyoung’s face. 

There’s a bag hanging from his wrist as well, a bigger version of the one he’d gotten from the beauty store. From it, he pulls bottles and tubes and brushes and palettes; there are things he’s never seen before, and things he has seen but never touched for fear of being ostracized. Things he’d seen on his mother’s dresser and put on his face only to scrub it off until his face was left raw and red. 

“These are for you,” Yeosang says. “I picked them out myself.”

Wooyoung sputters, taking in what he considers to be a small mountain of makeup. “I can’t accept this, it’s too much!” He may not own any makeup, but that hasn’t stopped him from scrolling through online stores, admiring all the colors and products. One thing he’d never admired, though, was the price. 

Yeosang only shrugs. “My parents always throw money at me for food and stuff, so I have a lot saved. And I’m probably never going to spend it all on myself, so I figured why not?”

“I still can’t—”

“Wooyoung, I insist.” Yeosang reaches to grab his hand and squeeze it gently. His smile is small and soft, so _genuine._ The words get stuck in Wooyoung’s throat, so all he does is nod and return the squeeze, hoping that everything he wants to say, every drop of gratitude in his body can be pressed into Yeosang through their hands. But he’s afraid it’ll never be enough. There isn’t any combination of words that can truly tell Yeosang how grateful he _really_ is. 

The tears gather and spill over now, but he doesn’t even try to stop them. Mingi clambers over and drapes himself over Wooyoung, hugging him tightly. 

_You deserve this._ That’s what Mingi’s hug means.

 _I love you._ That’s what the kiss pressed against his temple says. 

Wooyoung doesn’t know if he really does deserve it or not, but he’s ready to jump. This isn’t like when they dove off the cliff. That had been predictable. The ocean was waiting for them, and welcomed them with cool waves and white water. This is a whole new phenomenon.

He can dive into this ocean, but he doesn’t know if he’ll float or sink right to the bottom. It doesn’t really matter though, because like that day at the cliff, there will be four people there, holding his hands.

Four people to keep him afloat in a tumultuous tide. 

So Wooyoung is ready to take the plunge.

☼

Movie night ends with San asleep, prone on a couch. Mingi is passed out a beanbag, and Yeosang is settled in a heap of blankets on the floor. 

Wooyoung’s eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. He’s been waiting, watching, and now is the right time. Yunho steps quietly around the silent lounge and pads up the stairs, unaware as Wooyoung silently pushes himself up and follows. 

He’s in his room, changing into pajamas when Wooyoung shuffles in and shuts the door behind him. 

Yunho jumps, dropping his t-shirt and turning to bare his half-naked glory to the unexpected intruder.

“Wooyoung? Is everything alright?” Yunho’s tense body relaxes when he sees who it is, but his gaze is still concerned. 

Wooyoung nods. “Everything is wonderful.”

Yunho chuckles. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“I just wanted to come thank you,” Wooyoung admits, moving closer. Yunho doesn’t move back, only watching until Wooyoung comes to a stop less than a foot away. 

“What for?”

“For planning all of this.”

“Well, it wasn’t just me. Everyone helped,” Yunho says, shrugging. 

“I know but…” Wooyoung struggles to find the words. To say the right thing. “It isn’t _just_ this. Everything, from the moment we met you, has been… perfect.” 

And it’s true. Yunho saved Mingi that first night and didn’t shun him for the way he communicates. He met Yeosang, a silent, brooding boy and made him into someone who speaks with joy and smiles with hope. He welcomed them all into his home, including a man who he barely knew, who others had judged because of the ink in his skin and the rips in his clothes. And now this.

 _I think you deserve to be free, too._

Yunho saw his cage, the one he’d placed himself in, and he offered the key. It’s selfless, more than Wooyoung probably deserves, but he’s endlessly thankful.

For all of them, of course, but Yunho most of all.

A man who’s suffering just as much as the rest of them, but still puts everyone else before himself. 

A man who wants others to feel loved the way that he himself craves.

Wooyoung steps closer, clearing the space between them so his clothed chest is pressed against Yunho’s. His hands crawl up Yunho’s arms, settling on his shoulders. 

Yunho’s eyes soften as he circles his hands gently around Wooyoung’s waist. 

“I just… thank you, Yunho. For everything.”

Wooyoung hopes he understands what he means.

He presses up, standing on his toes and slotting his mouth gently against Yunho’s. 

His lips are soft and warm, like the rest of him. His arms feel like home as they hold Wooyoung tighter, press him against his body harder. Yunho tastes of cola and buttered popcorn and salty tears.

_You deserve more than this, Yunho._

_You deserve everything._

☼

> _Today we surprised Wooyoung with Yunho’s Operation Neon City idea._
> 
> _He cried, but they were happy tears, I think._
> 
> _I hope he finds the freedom to be himself, to express everything he’s been hiding away inside himself since we were kids. I hope he finds joy in seeing other people like him, and that he can be whoever he wants to be._
> 
> _I think he’s most beautiful when he’s happy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We would love a kudos and comment if you liked this chapter, and once again, thank you so much for reading! ❤️
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
> shan: [twitter](https://twitter.com/useumssi) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/useumssiiii)


	7. Neon Nights and Beautiful Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Wooyoung had looked his fears in the face, eyes smokey and lips glossy, only to realize that they weren’t what he should be afraid of. These people barely spared him a glance, as if they were used to this. Used to seeing a man do things that “only girls should do.” 
> 
> They looked, they smiled, they moved on. 
> 
> The one that Wooyoung should be most afraid of, he realizes, is himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, how time flies! I can’t believe we’re on chapter 7 already! Welcome to what could be the smuttiest chapter, complete with clubbing, alcohol, a semi-public blowjob, Yunho in booty shorts, and a threesome! A minor warning for self-esteem issues, toxic masculinity, and very brief mentions of self harm. Enjoy the fun! ;)

The drive to the city takes about two hours instead of one because of traffic, and by the time they get there, the sun is hanging low in the sky, spilling elegant warmth over skyscrapers with glass paneling and small restaurants with neon signs in the windows. The city vaguely reminds Wooyoung of home, but oddly enough, this one seems much cleaner and sleeker, as if every building was constructed just within the past year. Wooyoung rolls the window down and sticks his head out, his nostrils instantly met with an exquisite savory scent and a metallic tang. Much different from factory smoke and rubbish, that’s for sure.

“It’s a lot more magical at night,” Yunho says. They’re stopped at a red light—they’ve been hitting those every two minutes. “Every single building lights up. It’s unlike anything you’ll ever see. We’re almost there, I promise.”

‘Almost there’ means ten more minutes of traffic before Yunho finally pulls into a parking garage. Miraculously, he manages to find a spot on the first level. It’s a tight squeeze, leaving them just enough room for them to exit and get all their belongings out—duffel bags, backpacks, even a _suitcase_ for one night out.

“The hotel is just down the street,” Yunho tells them.

The hotel in question has a bold sign above a canopy at the entrance, in a majestic script that spells out ‘Say My Name.’

“That’s an odd name for a hotel,” San comments.

“You’ll understand why it’s called that soon enough.”

The simple sentence is enough to make Wooyoung catch on. Even though the sign hasn’t been lit yet, Wooyoung can still see the reddish tint to the tubing.

The lobby is completely vacant, save for the hotel receptionist at the front desk. The glossy white flooring and walls remind Wooyoung of a science fiction movie. In contrast to the white, the furniture and carpets range from deep crimson to mahogany, a few potted plants with fanned leaves scattered around the edges.

After checking in, they take one of the elevators to the fifth floor, where their two reserved rooms are located. Yunho stops in between them.

“So who’s sleeping with who?”

Wooyoung’s eyes involuntarily widen as he gauges the others’ reactions from his peripheral.

“We can play it by ear,” San says.

“Works for me!” Yunho chirps, turning to the room on his left. He unlocks it with the key card and pushes the door open, and _holy shit._

Wooyoung has only been to one hotel in his life. Some typical one that his family stayed at when they took a trip to a different city. _This_ one, however, is something straight out of a movie. The bed is enormous, probably a size bigger than a king. Draped in a downy white comforter, it stretches along the wall from the farthest window to the middle of the room. The window curtain is drawn shut, blacking out the room, but two bedside lamps and a soft violet glow illuminate the bed, providing an oddly… intimate aesthetic. The floor has a lustrous wood finishing, immaculately polished, and as soon as Wooyoung steps inside, he’s hit with a whiff of something floral, something _luxurious._

The room next door is similar, except the bed is illuminated red instead of purple. The bathrooms are home to glass showers, jacuzzis, and counters and mirrors that stretch the entire length of the wall. They look like they might as well be full-sized salons. 

“Is this… a love hotel?” San finally exclaims in realization.

Yunho bursts out laughing, his cackling echoing off the hollow bathroom walls. “Nah, love hotels don’t allow reservations like this. But to be honest, it might as well be one. I feel like more people use it as one than not, since there are so many clubs and only so many places to get laid. Love hotels around here fill up really quickly. They’re cheaper, more convenient, but at least we’re guaranteed a room here.”

“Because it’s expensive as hell?” Yeosang wonders aloud.

“Yes, but I have connections.”

“You seem to have connections wherever you go,” San says.

“Yeah, because my parents are drowning in riches and everyone knows them.” Yunho rolls his eyes. “It’s weird. My family has so much money but gets _discounts_ because of how well-known they are. Isn’t that kind of fucked?”

The four of them blink at each other, not knowing how to answer such a rhetorical question from the standpoint of the lower middle class.

“Anyway,” Yunho says, “it’s 7:30 and we’re going to the club at 10:30, so we have some time to kill. Dinner, anyone? My treat.”

Dinner is _way_ too extravagant for Wooyoung’s personal taste, though he savors and finishes every single bite he takes because the shit is _expensive_ , but when Yunho pulls out his card to pay, Wooyoung realizes just _how_ rich he is.

And he wonders how someone like Yunho could be so lonely.

With a too-big house, a platinum white car, and a black card to his name, Wooyoung is shocked that he doesn’t have people flocking to him from all ends. Yunho is beaming at the waiter when he comes to pick up the check, but it’s not because he’s getting the chance to flaunt the fact he has a black card.

He’s smiling because he has the chance to use it on someone in the first place. Some _ones_ , rather.

None of them comment on it, because just like the rest of them, Yunho comes from a place of loneliness, a place where he never belonged despite the fact that anything he could ever want could land in the palm of his hand if he so desired.

But no amount of money could buy him the genuine love he craves so badly.

☼

“What is it?” Yeosang asks cautiously, as if he can sense Wooyoung’s apprehension.

They’re back at the hotel, occupying one of the rooms’ bathroom-salons as Yeosang does Wooyoung’s makeup. All of his tools are spread out across the marble white counter in some form of an assembly line. Twenty brushes instead of three, seven palettes instead of two. It’s a sight Wooyoung has never had the pleasure of seeing right before his eyes.

“Just... nervous.”

“You heard Yunho. You saw the powerpoint. This place we’re going to, it’s all-inclusive. The people there aren’t going to care what you wear or what you look like.”

“How are you so sure?”

Yeosang smiles as he taps his brush against the plastic palette, the blue dust fluttering up into the air and disappearing without a trace. “It’s Yunho, Wooyoung. I trust him with my life.”

Wooyoung can’t help but chuckle at that. He supposes he feels the same.

Keeping his eyes closed is difficult. He remembers being young, with only three brushes at his mother’s disposal, patting on dark browns and mauves and blues onto his eyelids with no knowledge of blending or color schemes. And the eyeliner, god, what a disaster. His eyes would be rimmed with black until he resembled a raccoon, or a skeleton. Oddly enough, the mascara was his favorite part. He avoided the curler at all costs because to eleven-year-old Wooyoung, that thing might as well have been a medieval torture mechanism.

His eyes would look like a tortured canvas after an artist’s drunken rampage, but he would look at himself, crimson red lips and all, and smile.

And then he would scrub it all off. Sometimes, Mingi helped him. It hurt, scrubbing that hard. Washing his eyes over and over and wiping them with paper towels until his skin felt chafed and his eyes stung. And Wooyoung would look at himself after all of it was gone and despise his face and what he’d just done to himself. Because boys don’t wear makeup. Boys don’t try on their mother’s satin robes and black stockings and pink dresses.

He stopped at age thirteen, when he was at the arcade and a friend of his saw a person in a dress and said, “I can’t tell if that’s a boy or a girl.”

And another one said, “It’s a girl, obviously. Guys don’t wear that shit.”

And the other said, “But it looks like a boy in a wig.”

“That’s fucking weird.”

And Wooyoung listened. And he watched that person. And he thought, why does it matter? They’re happy that way. They’re gorgeous, and the dress was an emerald green with white polka dots. Wooyoung was jealous. He wanted to try that dress on for himself.

But he kept his mouth shut, and he didn’t touch his mother’s belongings ever again.

It has been years since a brush has touched Wooyoung’s face, and now, it is Yeosang who wields it. A master of his crafts, an artist, who’d spent hours watching makeup videos just because he wants Wooyoung to look at himself and love what he sees.

It is hard for Wooyoung to keep his eyes closed when he wants nothing more than to open them and look at Yeosang. The moments where Yeosang asks him to open his eyes so he can further blend the eyeshadow in accordance to the open shape are the best ones. He gets to look at Yeosang and peek over his shoulder to catch glimpses of himself.

And so far, he likes what he sees. A lot.

His eyes look like the stars in the middle of a duo chrome galaxy. One that Yeosang himself created.

“Alright,” Yeosang says with an exhale, coming towards Wooyoung with the dreaded eyelash curler. “Gotta keep your eyes open for this one.”

“I was always scared of the eyelash curler. Thought it was some kind of torture device.” Yeosang laughs at that.

Wooyoung finds it easy to keep his eyes open this time. Because it’s Yeosang he gets to look at.

“Hey, Yeosang.”

“Yeah?” Yeosang steps back and reaches for the mascara.

“How many times do you think you’d have to be told you’re beautiful in order for you to believe it?”

Yeosang chuckles again, that deep, sweet sound that Wooyoung has grown to love. He shakes his head. “You know, I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, swiping the mascara over Wooyoung’s lashes.

“Do you think beauty really is in the eye of the beholder?”

“I think… beauty just _is_.”

“What do you mean?”

Yeosang holds two tubes of lip gloss out to him. “Do you want peach or strawberry?”

Wooyoung gasps dramatically. “They’re flavored?”

Yeosang nods. The shades are slightly different—one being a more nude color with specks of silver glitter and the other one being tinted pink.

“Peach,” Wooyoung decides. “Now, answer my question. What do you mean?”

The first touch of the gloss is cold, but the tip against Wooyoung’s lips glides so smoothly, like it’s meant to. Like it’s meant for him. Yeosang smacks his lips together, gesturing for Wooyoung to copy him. “Goddammit Yeosang, answer my question already!” Wooyoung says with a laugh.

Yeosang sets the gloss back down on the counter and leans back against it. He sighs and looks down at Wooyoung with a proud smile. Proud of his work, proud of Wooyoung, or both, Wooyoung can feel it radiating off of his body.

“There are all those sayings about beauty, you know. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ ‘beauty is pain,’ things along those lines. And the thing is, Wooyoung, I might not be able to look at myself and think I’m beautiful, but you are. You look at me, all of you look at me, and you think I’m beautiful.”

“But Yeosang,” Wooyoung says, “you have to—“

“Love myself first? Wishful thinking.” Despite the weight of his words, Yeosang stays smiling. “Trust me, Wooyoung, I know. I know it’s important to love yourself first. But strangely enough, it’s easier for other people to love me and think I’m beautiful. It doesn’t take time. It doesn’t take self-reflection and self-love. Things that are so fucking hard to do when you’ve been stuck this entire time believing that everything you see in the mirror is a monstrosity.”

“Yeosang…”

For a split second, Yeosang’s smile falters. He glances away. “I know that I have a lot to work on. I know that my self-esteem still isn’t great. But at this point in time, Wooyoung, beauty is the last thing on my mind. And that has _never_ been the case for me, because my entire life was built upon the doubt and fear that came with people seeing my face and my scars. When I’m with you guys… it’s like beauty is just _there_. It exists. And it’s everywhere.”

His eyes fall back onto Wooyoung’s. Onto his masterpiece.

“If people would stop trying to make beauty about the appearance of things and start seeing beauty as something that just _is_ … well, then, everything would be beautiful.”

“And that’s what you feel around us? That everything is beautiful?”

Wooyoung looks at him. Yeosang is still beautiful, but there’s something new about him, and Wooyoung can’t quite put his finger on it.

Yeosang nods and steps forward to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind Wooyoung’s ear. “It’s strange. Everything is so beautiful around you guys that I don’t seem to care about beauty anymore. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, breathless. “I think I do.”

Yeosang straightens out the last few stray hairs before stepping off to the side and granting Wooyoung the view of himself through the mirror. “I must say, for my first time doing this, I think I did a pretty good job.”

Wooyoung’s glossed lips part in awe as he rotates his face, observing from all angles. He doesn’t know how Yeosang did it, but his face has never looked so smooth, the foundation and concealer blended so perfectly that he’d have to scrutinize himself to pick out any blemishes or bumps. His eyes are smoked out to perfection, a glittery blue and purple duo chrome patted onto his lids. Eyeliner encases the rims of his eyes, but not in a raccoon-like fashion, far from how Wooyoung’s sloppy makeup work used to look like. It jets outward, coming to a razor-sharp point just below his brow bone.

Wooyoung’s lip begins to quiver. “Hey, come on now,” Yeosang says, putting his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Don’t cry when I _just_ finished.”

“I won’t,” Wooyoung assures. At least, he won’t cry _now_. But as he continues to look at himself, his face finished in a way he’s always wanted, after _years_ of secondhand ridicule and judgments, he can’t help but feel the pent up emotions bubbling inside him like a volcano waiting to erupt. He is sure it’ll happen, but now isn’t the time. Tonight is supposed to be a happy night. Wooyoung won’t let his emotions get the best of him.

But _god_ , he has never felt so _free_.

“You look gorgeous, Wooyoung.”

 _Gorgeous._ Even the word makes something stir inside him. He’d never been called gorgeous or pretty or beautiful growing up.

“Yeosang… thank you. Thank you _so much_.”

Wooyoung stands up, almost knocking the stool over, and throws his arms around Yeosang in a tight embrace. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Of course, it was my pleasure.” Yeosang’s deep voice vibrates right next to Wooyoung’s ear, sending electricity down his spine. He even _sounds_ beautiful.

“All my life… I was taught it was wrong. I couldn’t like things like makeup or dresses. I couldn’t do what I wanted to do.”

“And it was suffocating,” Yeosang says.

Wooyoung pulls back, though his hands remain at the back of Yeosang’s neck, while Yeosang’s hands stay planted on his waist. _It would be so easy to kiss him._

“Yes,” Wooyoung admits, bowing his head down. “I was suffocating in my own world.”

“Well, you’re in _our_ world now.”

And just like that, Wooyoung looks up again. Because it’s Yeosang standing above him, an angel in his own right, an iridescent light and blinding beauty, and Wooyoung wouldn’t have him any other way.

Scars and birthmark and all.

Wooyoung watches Yeosang do his own makeup, a relatively simple look, complete with blazing scarlet eyeshadow and a black pointed wing. He keeps his face fairly uncovered, settling for a thin layer of powder foundation that does nothing to conceal his birthmark, but Wooyoung finds himself oddly proud of that.

_“The people there aren’t going to care what you wear or what you look like.”_

“Oi!” Yunho exclaims as the door to the bathroom whips open.

Standing before them is a very scantily-clad six-foot giant in torn booty shorts, cowboy boots, and a shimmery pink plaid crop top that’s tied at his torso. To Wooyoung’s surprise, his head is lacking a cowboy hat to complete the look.

“Oh my,” Yeosang says, chuckling.

Yunho poses against the door, sticking one foot up against the frame as he leans back against it, hands on his hips. “Well? Whatcha think?”

“Certainly bold, that’s for sure,” Wooyoung laughs.

Yunho had done his own makeup, though it looks more like a hot pink glitter monster puked on his face. Not that Wooyoung is one to judge, since his makeup skills aren’t exactly as up to par as Yeosang’s. But it fits, as sloppy as it looks, patches of pink and silver glitter dotting his face, the tops of his eyelids lined with black, complete with a thin layer of mascara.

“I definitely didn’t go this all-out last time I went to the place, since I didn’t know what it would be like,” Yunho says. He does a twirl and cocks a hip out. “But since I’d seen the light, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I call it, ‘Risqué Cowboy Princess.’”

Wooyoung breaks into a wide grin as Yunho steps forward to get a good look at him. He tilts his head scrutinizingly, yet Wooyoung has never felt so confident, so sure. He doesn’t cower under this pair of eyes; instead, he sits up straight, tilts his head, and closes his eyes, making sure that every speck of color that Yeosang bestowed upon him can be seen. Yunho leans down and cups his face, smiling.

“You look so beautiful, Wooyoung.” He giggles and he stands back up, his long fingers caressing his cheek. “But, like, you’re always beautiful.”

Just then, two more figures appear behind him, and Wooyoung’s draw drops to the floor.

If a pink glitter monster puked on Yunho’s face, a silver one projectile vomited onto San’s collarbones. In the dips of his skin are pools of glitter, accentuating the hills and valleys, traveling up from his chest and onto his neck. The deepest shade resides in the hollowness of his collarbones, acting as some form of flashy contour. He’s dressed in nothing but an unbuttoned midnight shirt and burnished leather pants, as all the focus is drawn up to his chest, teeming with silver sparkles, broad, defined, and quite frankly, fucking _hot_.

On Yunho’s other side stands Mingi, in a sheer holographic blouse with a black tank top underneath, acid-washed skinny jeans and boots that are all too resemblant of San’s. He, too, looks like he’s been attacked by a glitter monster, though the glitter on his body is reserved strictly on his cheekbones, an icy highlighter brushed on expertly to accentuate the curves and edges of his face. His lips are stained a vibrant lilac shade, thick false eyelashes perched upon his natural ones.

The finishing touches are Yeosang’s harness and Wooyoung’s beloved shirt. Yeosang is the one to help him into it, stretching it sufficiently so it doesn’t muss his hair and smudge his makeup, while Wooyoung is the one to clip Yeosang’s harness into place over his rainbow crop top, carefully guiding his arms through the correct loops. The harness wraps around his body snugly, fastened behind his neck and back. Miniature chains dangle from the straps, jangling over his torso.

Wooyoung’s breath gets caught in his throat when he finally sees everyone in their completed looks.

_Beautiful._

And each look speaks to who they are. Yunho, spunky and lively. San, mysterious yet elegant. Mingi, playful and energetic. Yeosang, refined yet unpredictable.

And Wooyoung.

Bold, brilliant Wooyoung.

“Aww, Wooyoungie, don’t cry,” Yunho coos, wrapping an arm around Wooyoung’s bare shoulders.

Wooyoung hadn’t even realized his lip quivering. He laughs it off, shaking his head.

“You all look amazing,” he says.

“We do,” San concurs, gazing at the four faces in front of him.

Doused in glitter, draped in outfits they wouldn’t dare wear anywhere else, heads held high with newfound confidence. Wooyoung has never felt such a rush, and he hasn’t even seen the club for himself yet.

“Well, I’d say we’re ready to go!” Yunho announces, bouncing on his heels. 

Ready isn’t exactly the word Wooyoung would use to describe himself right now. Curious, perhaps. Excited even. But ready? He doesn’t think he could ever be ready enough for something like this. It’s a whole new world beyond those doors. One he never fathomed could exist. 

But it’s out there, waiting, calling. Even through the crack in the curtains, he can see the swathes of green and blue and pink dance against the clear, inky sky. He yearns to touch them, dance among them. He yearns to be painted in those very colors, a reminder of who he is and that it’s _okay._

So no, Wooyoung is not ready to go. Never in a million years will he be ready to step outside this room.

But he is ready to finally _let go._ To accept himself for who he is. And to be utterly and perfectly okay with it.

☼

Pre-gaming involves taking shots straight from a miniature bottle of vodka Yunho seemingly produces from nowhere as they wait for their Ubers in the hotel lobby. It’s drained quite fast, but by the time the sleek black vehicle pulls up to the front doors, Wooyoung can already feel the familiar burn of alcohol in his stomach and the pleasant buzzing in his veins. 

They pile into the luxury car, and Wooyoung’s jaw hits the floor. It’s beautiful and looks so, so _expensive._ Lights line the pristine flooring, flooding the SUV with a cerulean glow that makes Wooyoung feel like they’re underwater. And the driver? He’s wearing a fucking _suit._

Yunho slides into the passenger seat, greeting the man behind the wheel like an old friend as the rest of them clamber into their seats. The driver doesn’t look at them twice, doesn’t given them that judging once-over Wooyoung expected. He only smiles and greets them, offering them phone chargers and wishing them a fun night out. 

And just like that, every terrorizing thought that had been nagging at his mind slips out in a relieved _woosh_ of breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. 

His fear sat in the front seat, wearing a suit to drive a handful of rambunctious young adults to a club to get shit-faced. His fear was behind the hotel lobby counter, looking bored as the clock counted down to the end of her shift. His fear was the people on the sidewalk between the hotel and the car, rushing off in the middle of the night to god-knows-where. 

And Wooyoung had looked his fears in the face, eyes smokey and lips glossy, only to realize that they weren’t what he should be afraid of. These people barely spared him a glance, as if they were used to this. Used to seeing a man do things that “only girls should do.” 

They looked, they smiled, they moved on. 

The one that Wooyoung should be most afraid of, he realizes, is himself. 

All the reactions that he’d been expecting—the disgust, the horror, the distaste—were they how he felt about himself? It wouldn’t be a surprise. 

Before this, every itching finger that moved towards a make-up brush or every wandering gaze to pretty skirts and blouses would be vehemently pulled away, shut in a box, and locked with a key. And no one did it to Wooyoung but himself. There were his parents and their conserved nature, and his friends and their ignorant words. But the one who punished him the most was Wooyoung himself.

_I don’t need to be afraid anymore._

And he’s not. All his fear slipped out with that sigh, the weight of the world falling off of his shoulders in an instant. And he feels so _free._

A bass-heavy song bursts through the speakers after the driver offers the aux cord to Yunho, the self-proclaimed cowboy princess whooping and wiggling about in the front seat in what Wooyoung assumes is supposed to be some version of twerking.

And the driver _laughs,_ mirth in his eyes. Not annoyance or exasperation, but joy. It gives Wooyoung hope. Hope that one day he can be as carefree as Yunho is being right now, and the people beside him will bask in his happiness. 

The drive to the club is maybe fifteen minutes, and it’s full of more laughter, and talking, and dancing. Wooyoung is almost sorry when they have to get out. Almost, but not quite. 

The city is bustling, so full of life it’s nearly overwhelming. It thrums to the beat of the heavy bass that sounds from countless clubs, a messy heartbeat in a body made of skyscrapers where the people flow through avenues like lifeblood, keeping the whole place alive. 

The club that they arrive at is familiar, the neon sign reading “Sunrise” much brighter in person. The bright yellow swirls in Wooyoung’s mind even when he closes his eyes, adjusting to all the sounds, and colors, and smells. 

This is nothing like the city he comes from. There, the energy is tepid, full of businessmen who hate their jobs and trudge their way home after working overtime hours that they don’t get paid nearly enough for. Back home, their city is quiet, people speaking in hushed tones into headphones, barely paying their neighbors any mind. The air is clogged by smog from all the cars and buses that zoom through everyday, never stopping for more than a few moments, as desperate to get out from beneath the looming buildings almost as the people who rush down the sidewalks.

This city is _everything_ compared to home. The energy is blazing hot, fuelled by pure adrenaline. The lights are bright and blinding, reds, yellows, greens and purples swirling in every iris that looks upon them, wide-eyed. It hurts, but it hurts so good. Wooyoung could stare at the signs for hours, some flashing, some fading from color to color, but each saying the same thing: “come inside, and enjoy.” 

The people that line the streets are just as colorful, sporting even more outrageous looks than Yunho’s bright pink ensemble. More colors than in Yeosang’s little package of pencils, and certainly more colors than Wooyoung had ever thought existed. The air still smells of smoke—cigarettes and weed. He finds he doesn’t mind it much. It reminds him of that day by the pool, the memory of Mingi’s laugh and Yeosang’s bare skin returning to him with each deep breath. 

Club-goers spill out the front door of the club, leaning against the wall and floating in the cool excitement of the night. It’s a long queue, so long that he begins to question whether they’ll even get in tonight. But it seems Yunho’s planned ahead for just about everything. 

They walk past everyone beyond the red ropes corralling the line; some give them dirty looks, but others allow their eyes to rove appreciatively over Wooyoung’s fishnets and glossy mouth. San gets quite a few open-mouthed stares, one person going so far as to wipe phantom drool from his lip when San smirks his way, piercings glinting in the neon night. 

“Hey, Jongho!” Yunho calls the bouncer who stands dutifully by the front door. Something about the man’s appearance doesn’t quite compute. His face is unbelievably adorable, all round cheeks and a gummy smile, but his body? Even under the bulky uniform, Wooyoung can see the broad expanse of his shoulders, and the way the muscles of his arms strain against the fabric of the suit jacket. From head to toe, this man is a paradox—the body of a strongman topped with the sweetest baby face Wooyoung has ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on.

The bouncer, Jongho, raises a hand in greeting as Yunho bounds to him, letting out a soft _oof_ when Yunho throws his arms around him, hugging him fiercely. 

When he pulls away, Wooyoung has to muffle his laugh with his palm. Splotches of silver and pink dust Jongho’s face and hair, even dusting his shoulders. Jongho doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Damn, Yunho, you look good,” Jongho giggles, and Wooyoung melts just a bit more at the melodic sound. 

“Thank you,” Yunho chirps, twirling unprompted to show off the entirety of his risqué outfit. Jongho eyes him approvingly, staring not-so-subtly when Yunho wiggles his ass in the ripped booty shorts. 

“You all look great, by the way,” Jongho says, waving to the rest of them. “I’m Jongho, a friend of Seonghwa’s, and now a friend of Yunho’s.” Yunho throws them two big thumbs up, smile wide and dazzling.

“I called ahead to let him know that we’re coming,” Yunho explains, hugging Jongho again from behind. Jongho only rolls his eyes, amused. 

“You guys can go right in when you’re ready. Yunho knows where the table is.” 

“Table?” San sputters. “Holy shit dude, you really went all out.”

“I told you this was going to be the night of a lifetime!” Yunho winks before pressing an over-exaggerated kiss to the top of Jongho’s head. “We’ll see you later, Jjongie!” He waves over his shoulder as he all but skips to the entrance.

Mingi huffs a laugh through his nose as Yunho enters the club, towering over nearly everyone in his heeled cowboy boots. They all follow after him, stepping into the club and turning the corner. Each step sends vibrations from the soles of Wooyoung’s feet to the very top of his head, and when the full expanse of the club opens up in front of them, he can’t stifle the gasp that falls from his lips.

He’s been to clubs before, but those are mere bars compared to the grandiosity of this. The entire place is packed, bodies teeming on the dance floor as far as he can see, and then some. There is a second floor, stairs leading up to it placed at intervals around the floor. It hangs over the dance floor, the patrons there leaning against the railing and sipping lazily on drinks that probably cost a fortune. Even the ground floor is lined with booths, and two bars take up opposite ends of the room, a plethora of drunk club-goers lining up to get their next fix. 

There are poles too, some occupied, some not. 

“How much you wanna bet Yunho’s gonna be on one of those before the night is over?” San nearly shouts into his ear. Over the volume of the music, his voice reaches Wooyoung’s ears with all the intensity of a whisper.

“It’s going to happen, no question. I give it an hour.”

San tilts his head, looking over at Yunho who’s already eyeing an unoccupied pole. “Thirty minutes.”

Unsurprisingly, Yunho leads them up the closest set of stairs to the second floor, which is decidedly less crowded. People are scattered in sparse groups, seated in booths or people-watching over the railing. The lighting isn’t very good, lit up by blacklights that emit a lazy blue hue that’s enough to see just in front of you.

Yunho weaves around everyone with grace despite the shitty lighting, beelining straight for an empty booth and presenting it with a flourish. It’s rounded and modern, the seats made of plush white suede. The table it encircles is a sleek black, a card reading “reserved” sitting in the middle. 

The music is somehow quieter up here, Yunho barely having to speak louder than he usually does when he’s excited. 

“Who’s up for shots?!”

Every hand shoots up as they seat themselves in the cozy booth and Yunho claps in glee. Wooyoung looks over and sees Yeosang wave his hand in the air, mimicking Yunho’s delight. He remembers the first time he saw Yeosang sip beer and the way he’d nearly choked on it. 

He thought it was cute, the way he’d reached for the sweeter option the moment Yunho had offered it. 

_Yeosang is so cute._ Wooyoung isn’t even drunk yet, but the thought pops into his head, invading every neuron until it’s all he can think about. Everything about him is so cute, from his hesitant smile to his straight eyebrows that scrunch together when he laughs, and his long blond hair that he’s started to tie back into a baby ponytail to the way he clutches his notebook to his chest like a shield, although he’s been doing that a lot less nowadays. But Wooyoung loves his birthmark the most, the soft pink of it against the white of his eye. 

Yeosang only dusted his face with a thin powder, letting the perfect imperfection sit on the surface rather than under layers of concealer. Wooyoung had watched him do it, felt proud witnessing it.

But he did not see Yeosang disappear after that. He was with Yeosang nearly the whole time until they left. So when in god’s name had he done _this_?

Wooyoung stares, unabashed, as Yeosang’s birthmark _glows_. Under the blacklight, it’s a stark splotch of pink on his face, glowing neon like the city lights. Yeosang’s hair is styled so that his hair doesn’t fall to the sides, leaving the work of art on display for everyone to witness.

Looking at this hurts too, but not in the way that staring at neon bulbs had made Wooyoung’s eyes angry and dry. This is another type of hurt that starts in his belly, twisting it into coils only to be released again. An endless cycle that curls his insides, making his heart pound in time to the bass and forces his breath out in stuttered punches. His throat closes with a lump and his nose burns as the tears he’s been fighting so hard to hold back spring back up. 

It hurts so bad, but in the best way possible. What Wooyoung feels now looking at Yeosang’s face, it’s beyond pride.

It’s beyond any mundane happiness that he’s felt before.

This feeling sends shocks of euphoria through his body even though Yeosang is the one who’s conquering his demons, and makes his heart swell until it feels like it’s going to burst. 

A lone tear escapes, but Wooyoung wipes it away before it can ruin his makeup. Mingi leans over, the glare of the phone bright in the dim club.

 _‘I see it too.’_ A large hand squeezes his under the table as they look at Yeosang’s face, the perfect picture of it. 

_Beauty just is._ Wooyoung finds that Yeosang couldn’t be more right. Everything _is_ beautiful. But smack dab in the center of it all, unknowing or unwilling to know, is Yeosang. 

Everything is beautiful. That wasn’t a lie. 

_But everything in the world dulls in comparison to you._

☼

Yunho orders what he calls “pornstar shots” for the whole table, lining up the tiny glasses row after row after the server brings them over. 

When Yeosang first agreed to taking the shots, he’d expected something like the vodka Yunho had somehow procured to pre-game. The liquid that sloshes around in the shot glasses, though, is a deep purple, the colors of whatever liquors were used to make it still swirling in deep clouds as they mix together. 

“I ordered these especially for you,” Yunho winks in his direction, and Yeosang smiles, picking up a cold glass between sweaty fingers. 

They all toss it back at the same time after a messy “cheers!” and Yeosang winces as he waits for the burn, but it never comes. It does sting, but not nearly as much as the vodka, and it tastes _sweet._

“What do you think?” Yunho asks, poking his shoulder, expectant.

“I think… this is dangerous.” He can barely taste the alcohol, and it leaves the flavor of raspberries on his tongue. Yeosang already wants to reach for another, craving the sweet tang. 

San laughs, sensing what he wants and sliding another shot his way. The whole table does another round, slamming it back and whooping in delight as the cool alcohol settles low in warm bellies. 

The shots don’t take long to hit him, Yeosang having already been buzzed since they left the hotel. He grins and laughs at nothing in particular, leaning against Yunho’s shoulder and then Mingi’s as the world begins to spin, a carousel ride he doesn’t want to get off of just yet. 

Wooyoung downs one more shot, and Yunho and San take two more each while he and Mingi watch, cheering after each one.

The club is somehow brighter under the influence, alcohol soaking his brain and playing with every sense. The flashing lights that rain down from the ceiling look like rapid strikes of lightning, shooting down and charging everyone down below with an overload of electricity, sparks dancing along skin as drunken bodies gyrate to a beat that rattles Yeosang’s bones. 

Yunho tugs his hand, pulling Yeosang from Mingi’s shoulder and onto his feet.

“Now we dance!”

Sober Yeosang would have been mortified at the way Yunho twirls him around and grinds against his body. Sober Yeosang would have blushed furiously as San and Wooyoung cheer, waggling suggestive eyebrows his way as Yunho continues what can only be described as a standing lap dance, dropping low and looking up at him through glitter-dusted lashes.

Drunk Yeosang is in charge tonight, though, and he only grins, holding Yunho’s hand to keep him steady as he whirls every which way. Drunk Yeosang even grinds back a little when Yunho bends over and presses his barely-clothed ass to his pelvis.

And drunk Yeosang is loving every second of it. 

The stairs down to the main floor prove to be a little more difficult to traverse while completely inebriated, but they make it down without incident. Yunho twirls and skips towards a pole immediately with Mingi following close behind, long arms thrown in the air and waving around to the unidentifiable words of an unidentifiable song. Wooyoung steps onto the dance floor, hesitant at first but eyes wide in wonder. And then he starts to dance.

Yeosang can’t help but stare as Wooyoung loses himself to the lightning and neon and pornstar shots, hips swaying in tantalizing circles. The skirt sways with him, flowing away from his fishnet-clad legs and revealing the skin of his upper thighs inch by inch only to fall back down and hide the soft flesh. 

His eyes close as he becomes one with the ebb and flow of the crowd, a miniature galaxy painted on his eyelids by Yeosang’s own hand. It’s mesmerizing, the way he just seems to _fit._ As if he’s been there the whole time, an integral piece of this writhing puzzle. 

Just like that, another piece clicks into place as San moves in, shirt billowing open in a phantom wind. His chest shines with glittery mercury that’s littered with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds as the disco lights bounce off of him in ever-changing hues. 

His hands circle Wooyoung’s waist, pulling him until Wooyoung’s back is flush with his front. The shirt—that lovely creation of silk and mesh and roses—is no doubt stained with body glitter, but Wooyoung seems as though he couldn’t care less. 

He looks over his shoulder from under thick lashes, smirking when he sees San bite his lip as he grinds his ass back against his crotch. Just looking at them makes goosebumps erupt across Yeosang’s flesh, a deep yearning crawling its way through his insides. Not jealousy, but a craving to be held like that. A longing to garner that same reaction from San without even taking off his clothes, or to feel Wooyoung’s body against his, moving in slow rolls that would no doubt set every single one of his nerves on fire. 

Yeosang wants it. He wants it all. Those moans and senseless words he’d heard through the wall ring in his ear despite the pounding music. Wooyoung’s lovely gasps and San’s rough voice as they reached the height of pleasure, the closest two people could ever be… Yeosang wants _that._

And he’s sure it’s not just the alcohol talking. No, this is something he’s felt for a while, itching under his skin every time Wooyoung stood too close or San unabashedly walked around half-naked. Hell, he even felt it with Yunho that day he and Mingi discovered he was a lifeguard, and not five minutes ago when he was dancing against Yeosang’s body. And Mingi—sweet Mingi who’d given him the best gift he’s ever received in his life… Yeosang would be lying if he said he’s never stared at Mingi’s plump lips and sharp jawline with something a little more than admiration. 

These walking pieces of art that had welcomed him with open arms have made him feel things in these past weeks that he’s never felt in his nineteen years of life. Things that make his body hot and his belly flutter with a conservatory’s-worth of butterflies. They make him happy more than anything, but they also make him feel so utterly human, a slave to his body and its raging hormones.

So when San gently grabs Wooyoung’s neck and turns his face to capture his glossed lips in a deep, messy kiss, Yeosang isn’t surprised to realize that the sight has taken his breath away. And when Wooyoung pulls away panting, lipstick smeared against his mouth and San’s, Yeosang feels a familiar twitch in his pants, not unlike what he felt that day at the pool when Wooyoung had given him a kiss, albeit on his knee. It was nowhere close to his mouth but it still felt so soft, so right against his skin.

He’s so lost in his study of Wooyoung and San and every perfect moment shared between the two that he doesn’t realize that’s been moving closer, step by step. Their gravity is strong, pulling him in unwittingly until he’s a mere comet, circling them and burning hot as he gets sucked in. When Wooyoung looks at him and smiles, he shatters in a million pieces, the heat too much to take. 

“Hi, Yeosangie.” He can’t actually hear Wooyoung over the ear-splitting music, but he can read his lips well enough. “Join us.”

Yeosang doesn’t bother speaking. A simple nod is all it takes for him to be sandwiched between the two of them, San at his back and Wooyoung in front, arms thrown around his neck. He would have expected it to be awkward, but it isn’t in the slightest. 

His hands find their own way to Wooyoung waist, digging into the strip of exposed flesh between his blouse and skirt.

His body is so warm, and Yeosang swears he can feel the thrum of blood coursing through Wooyoung’s veins under his fingertips. San pulls him closer, pulls them both closer, craning his neck down so his mouth is right by Yeosang’s ear, lips brushing over the cartilage as they sway together. 

Yeosang tries his best, swirling his hips the way Wooyoung had, though he probably thinks it isn’t as effective. It’s his first time dancing, let alone between two absolutely gorgeous men whose hips move like liquid sin. 

San moves like water, hips matching Yeosang’s movements no matter how ungraceful or staggered his movements are. He knows how to manipulate Yeosang’s body with a gentle hand on his waist and another on his hip. It becomes easier to match him; San makes it so easy. It’s like learning to swim—daunting at first, but then you realize you can float if you just give in and _feel._

Wooyoung is like electricity, sparking a million explosive reactions as he runs his fingers through Yeosang’s hair, and down his neck and arms. He even lets his hands press against Yeosang’s chest, toying with the harness and its dainty silver chains. 

He’s so _close._ All Yeosang really has to do is just lean down. It may be an inch, maybe two, and Wooyoung’s lips will be right there on his, where he’s wanted them for god-knows how long. Wooyoung’s galaxy eyes beckon, daring him to do it. To just _let go_ and for once to take what he wants. 

He wants to. He wants to so badly that it hurts.

And so he does. 

Wooyoung sees it coming, pressing up a fraction of a second after Yeosang begins to move, meeting him halfway. 

Wooyoung tastes of peach lip gloss, raspberry schnapps, and San—an addicting concoction if Yeosang’s ever tasted one. They start slow, a simple press of lips, parting and coming together again to the cadence of some almost-familiar EDM track. 

And then Yeosang feels it. Something wet against his mouth, prodding at his bottom lip, begging for entry. When he parts his lips, Wooyoung’s tongue swoops in, licking into his mouth like it’s always belonged there. Yeosang sighs, burying his fingers into Wooyoung’s hair and pulling him closer, unable to tell where he ends and Wooyoung begins. 

San is still there, grinding against Yeosang from behind, but he doesn’t intervene. Instead he leans down lower, pressing his lips against the side of Yeosang’s neck, leaving hot kisses up and down the exposed expanse of sweaty skin. 

Wooyoung groans, pulling away with a gasp. He looks _wrecked_ just from a kiss. 

Yeosang feels his soul leave his body when Wooyoung begins to giggle, and then laugh, a joyous sound lost in the noise of the club. But Yeosang can still feel the vibrations against his chest, Wooyoung’s breath on his face. He smiles back, his own lips now sticky with peach gloss. 

“Oh shit.” 

San is close enough that Yeosang can hear the curse against his neck. San pulls away from them, turning to look at _something._ Yeosang and Wooyoung follow the line of his gaze, sputtering a laugh when they see what it is that monopolized San’s attention.

It’s Yunho, wrapped around a pole. His shirt is off, tied around his hips. Turns out he’d really gone to town with the glitter on his chest, both of his pecs covered in a layer of pink and silver that sparkles with every twirl around the pole. He looks amazing, long legs and lean body moving like he’s had years of practice. 

This is exactly what Yeosang expected when he first saw the way that Yunho had eyed the poles in the club. But what he didn’t expect was to see Mingi up there, too.

His expression is a cross between terrified and ecstatic as Yunho traps him between the pole and his hard body, torso rolling in slow, sensual waves. It’s like his hands don’t know where to go, landing on Yunho’s bare waist briefly only to reach back for the cool metal of the pole. 

Wooyoung leans towards San, resting his chin on Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Go save him, would you?”

“Hmm, in a bit.”

“Yunho looks like he wants to fuck him right there.”

“I don’t think Mingi would be opposed to that.” San pauses for a moment, thinking. “Hell, _I_ wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

Wooyoung laughs, a silent agreement. “Please? I’ll owe you?” 

Yeosang can’t see his face, but he can feel San crumbling, giving into Wooyoung within moments.

“Fine, but don’t be surprised when I come to collect.” 

Yeosang feels cold for a moment when San detaches his arms from around him, slipping into the crowd. Wooyoung’s arms take his place quickly though, drawing him close as he presses up to nip at Yeosang’s lips. 

“You’re excited tonight,” Wooyoung says against his mouth. It takes him a moment to register what Wooyoung means, only understanding when Wooyoung rolls his hips forward, grinding against his hard cock. Yeosang gasps, face flushing in embarrassment. He hadn’t even felt himself get hard, too lost in the heat of San’s kisses and the feel of Wooyoung’s tongue dancing with his. 

He moves to pull away, to pull himself back and hide because _god_ … he got hard from just kissing Wooyoung! Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it. He thinks it would probably be good if he could crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of this summer. Or the rest of his life. Either works.

“I-I’m so sorry—” 

Yeosang’s breath is knocked from his chest when Wooyoung pulls him back, securing his arms around Yeosang’s neck. And then he begins those absolutely torturous rolls again, undulating hips brushing up against Yeosang’s cock as it twitches, pleased with such a foreign feeling.

“Don’t be sorry,” Wooyoung all but purrs into his ear. “Do you want some help with that?”

 _Help?_

The offer insinuates more than it’s innocent wording. “Help” involves Wooyoung seeing him, _touching_ him. Wrapping his hand around him and running his fist up and down his shaft in a way that Yeosang had only ever done to himself. He could easily fix it himself, easily remove himself from Wooyoung and go back to their booth and calm down.

But he doesn’t want to. 

Wooyoung is offering to help. Offering what something that Yeosang had never dreamed of receiving from someone as beautiful and wonderful as him. 

“Yes, please.” It comes out in a rush of air so quick that Yeosang is afraid that Wooyoung doesn’t hear. He does, though, looking up at Yeosang with a rainbow-colored grin.

“Come this way.” 

Yeosang is tugged along in Wooyoung gravity as they make their way to the bathroom. The place is not so crowded, a single drunk man trying his best to use the urinal (and failing miserably) standing in one corner. The stalls are empty, and Wooyoung pushes him into the closest one, kicking the door shut behind them.

He pounces on Yeosang, smashing their lips together with a fiery desperation that wasn’t present out in the middle of the dance floor. He can hardly keep up, groaning into Wooyoung’s mouth when he bites his bottom lip, and when he uses his tongue so, so sinfully. 

“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” Wooyoung sighs, weaving his fingers through Yeosang’s harness and tugging it gently. 

“You have?”

“Fuck yes.” The surprise, the suddenness of it all hits Yeosang in one, towering wave. Wooyoung has wanted this as badly as Yeosang. It took them getting drunk to get here, but they made it. Wooyoung wants Yeosang. And Yeosang wants Wooyoung. So much that it hurts.

Wooyoung, who’s seen all his scars, all his pain etched permanently into his flesh. Wooyoung, who is so beautiful, and loving, and kind. Whose moans sound so lovely even if they’re muffled through a wall. 

Wooyoung wants _him._

“Is this okay?” Wooyoung’s hands are on his waist, hovering above the button and zipper of his too-tight pants. 

“Y-yes. God, _yes._ ”

His fingers work so fast that he doesn’t even realize that his pants have been pushed off his hips until the cool air of the bathroom brushes his thighs. Only the material of his underwear separates him from Wooyoung’s hand. 

Wooyoung’s hand is soft as he explores, running a palm over the length of his shaft before shifting up to run a finger around his clothed, sensitive head. And all the while he’s kissing him breathless. It’s too much to feel at once; Yeosang doesn’t know what to react to—Wooyoung’s mouth ravishing his own, or the relief he feels when Wooyoung’s fist grips his length.

He doesn’t have to choose, he realizes, when Wooyoung pulls away. Yeosang’s eyes remain closed as he pants, catching his breath to make up for what Wooyoung stole from his lungs. Then Wooyoung’s hand is gone too, and a needy whine slips from Yeosang’s lips. He hears the rustle of fabric and a soft thud, but still Wooyoung’s hands and mouth don’t return to his body.

When he opens his eyes, Wooyoung is no longer in front him. So he looks down, and his belly erupts in a fire so big that Yeosang’s surprised he doesn’t simply spontaneously combust right there and then. 

Wooyoung is on his knees looking up at Yeosang with a hungry expression. His hands are resting against his thighs, fidgeting with his fishnets as he parts his lips and leans in, getting closer and closer to where he wants to be. But he stops, and he’s so close that Yeosang can feel his warm breath through that final, wretched piece of clothing still covering him.

“Is this okay?” Wooyoung asks. His lips touch him when he speaks, a flutter of plump lips against his pulsating shaft. Yeosang’s knees nearly buckle. The words can’t come out, stuck to the back of his throat like velcro. 

He nods, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, and it’s all the permission Wooyoung’s hands need to come up and pull the cottony fabric down and out of the way.

There’s a flush of relief as the overheated flesh of his shaft meets the cool air, but it doesn’t last very long. Wooyoung’s hand grips him, too tight but also not tight enough. He moves slowly, feeling every ridge and bump, every pulsing vein of Yeosang’s cock against his palm.

Yeosang doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed. Wooyoung is the first person besides himself to see him so exposed, so bare. He thought he would want to hide and cover himself when the time came, but he finds himself feeling quite the opposite now. 

Now that it’s Wooyoung seeing him, he can’t take his eyes away.

Wooyoung is looking at him, feeling the weight of him in his hand. His eyes flicker as they travel over his shaft and around the swollen, weeping head. 

“Even your dick is beautiful.”

It takes a moment to register what Wooyoung said, but when he does, Yeosang laughs, punched out and loud. 

“You’re calling my dick _beautiful_?” he chokes out between chuckles. 

Wooyoung hums, thumbing at his slit and spreading pre-cum with slow circles of the soft pad of his finger. 

“Literally every single part of you is beautiful, how is that possible?” There’s a flicker of movement as Wooyoung’s tongue darts out and tastes him. Yeosang sucks in a breath, shocked by the sensation but still craving more. 

“I wasn’t aware that dicks could be considered beautiful.” His voice sounds shaky, but Wooyung doesn’t seem to notice. Or he simply doesn’t care.

“Well, yours is. Not too big, not too small, and you fit perfectly in my hand. Plus, you taste good.” He licks him again, this time starting at the base of his shaft and dragging his tongue over the underside of Yeosang’s cock. 

Yeosang tries to muffle his moans against his hand, but it doesn’t really work, the stilted sound echoing in their little stall. 

“Your moans are beautiful too, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung murmurs, pumping his hand and watching as Yeosang slowly loses his mind. “Let me hear them all.”

Finally, blessedly, his lips, still messy with smeared gloss, wrap around the weeping head of Yeosang’s cock. He suckles it, gentle, tonguing the slit before dragging it along the glans. 

Yeosang’s moan gathers in his mouth before rushing out all at once, a deep, melodic sound that floods his ears and drowns out the insistent thumping of the bass out on the dance floor.

Wooyoung’s mouth is pure bliss, so hot and welcoming. His tongue is writhing sunlight, making him burst into flames wherever it touches. He quickly moves down Yeosang’s length, letting the warm weight of him rest on his tongue as he tries to fit as much of him into his mouth as he can. It’s wet when he begins to bob his head, hollowing out his cheeks and twisting his fingers around the part that he can’t fit into his mouth. 

It’s unlike anything Yeosang’s ever felt before. His own hand, even aided by warming lube, has _nothing_ on this euphoria. Wooyoung’s mouth works over him, slow and deep, and then quick with his tongue darting around to taste all of him. And the whole time he moans. Yeosang moans and moans until he can hear nothing but the sound of Wooyoung’s slick mouth on his cock and his own voice becoming raw with use. 

There’s the sound of gagging, and the feeling of Wooyoung’s throat constricting around him. It feels so fucking _good_ , but Yeosang reaches for Wooyoung, pulling him off until he can look at his face. 

He’s ruined, face red and tears escaping the corners of his eyes. He’s breathless and smiling, spit coating his lips, the lip gloss long gone. 

“Why did you stop me, Yeosang?” Wooyoung asks. His voice is hoarse, a little deeper than normal, and Yeosang’s cock twitches. It doesn’t go unnoticed, Wooyoung beginning to stroke him again, a little faster this time. It’s still nothing compared to the heavenly feel of his mouth. 

“Y-you gagged,” he pants. “Didn’t w-wanna hurt you.”

“Oh, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung hums. “I wanted that. I wanted you all the way in, to feel every inch of you. You taste so _good._ ” 

_Well fuck._

Yeosang’s legs shake when Wooyoung quickens his pace. He runs his fingers up Wooyoung’s cheek burying his fingers in his soft hair. 

“You don’t have to,” Yeosang whispers. He doesn’t want to make Wooyoung uncomfortable to feel good. Nothing could ever be worth hurting Wooyoung.

“I want to,” Wooyoung whispers back, turning his head to place a kiss on Yeosang’s palm. “Besides, I know you’ll never hurt me.”

And with that, his mouth is back on Yeosang. He dives down again, slowly this time, inch by inch. Wooyoung’s body begins to protest the intrusion, and Yeosang can feel every bit of it, every muscle that tightens around his shaft like a vice. Wooyoung pushes through though, panting heavily through his nose and controlling his breaths. 

Yeosang continues to moan, a hand tightly curled in Wooyoung’s hair. 

Wooyoung gags again and again, and each time it sends a shock of pleasure up Yeosang’s spine. He tries again to pull Wooyoung off, but Wooyoung shakes his head, lips still stretched so wonderfully around the girth of him. 

Wooyoung is insistent, pressing Yeosang deep and deeper still, until his nose is nuzzling the skin of his pelvis. 

Wooyoung moans, sending the vibrations from his chest right into Yeosang’s body, imbuing every single cell in his body with pure ecstasy. Then he swallows, Yeosang still lodged deep in his throat and _god—_

Wooyoung's throat clamps down on him, the muscle quivering and fighting but Wooyoung never pulls off. Yeosang claws at the smooth plastic behind him, arching his back and unknowingly pressing himself more into Wooyoung’s mouth. 

His orgasm blindsides him. He never felt it coming. That coil in his belly that he feels when he’s close winds up and breaks apart in a split second, so fast that it’s blinding, flooding his vision with white. 

_Wooyoung._

He never got to warn Wooyoung.

“Wo-Wooyoung, _fuck—_ ”

Wooyoung is milking him for all he’s worth. His head is bobbing in time with his hand, Yeosang spilling into his waiting mouth in erratic bursts. 

And Wooyoung takes all of it. 

When he’s done, when his body can take no more and he’s slumped back against the flimsy wall of the stall, that’s when Wooyoung pulls away.

Yeosang looks down at him, eyes fighting to stay open in his post-orgasm bliss. His hand is looser now in Wooyoung’s hair, but Wooyoung still nuzzles against it, high from the pleasure of bringing Yeosang over the edge.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang’s voice comes out as barely more than a whisper, sated. 

Wooyoung doesn’t reply. He only opens his mouth and presents himself to Yeosang.

His cum, silvery and _copious_ , sits on Wooyoung tongue. 

_Oh my god._

“Holy shit Wooyoung, I’m so sorry. Here, you can spit it out—” Yeosang is cut off when Wooyoung draws his tongue back into his mouth and makes a big show of swallowing every last drop. He even licks his fingers free of stray droplets, humming with delight as he savors the taste.

“—or not.”

“You taste so wonderful Yeosangie. I may just be addicted to you.” Wooyoung winks as he slides Yeosang’s underwear and pants back into place, even doing up the button for him. 

He kisses Yeosang again when he stands, this time slow and languid, allowing Yeosang to get a taste of himself. It isn’t that great, it’s quite salty actually. But mixed with everything Wooyoung, Yeosang finds he doesn’t mind it much.

“Let’s head back before the others start missing us.” Wooyoung reaches for the lock on the door, but Yeosang grabs his wrist.

“Wait, what about you?” 

Wooyoung is hard, painfully so by the looks of it. It helps that his skirt is so loose, hiding the tenting a bit, but not by much. 

“Let me help you. Please,” Yeosang says, almost pleading. 

Wooyoung kisses him again. “Sweet, beautiful Yeosang, you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“But I want to.”

“Fuck, trust me, I want you to, too,” Wooyoung kisses him again, harder. “But not right now. I want to take my time with you.”

Yeosang chuckles. “The evidence would suggest otherwise.”

“This was a moment of weakness,” Wooyoung giggles as he swats playfully at his shoulder. “But trust me, this will happen again. If you want it, of course.”

“I want it. So _badly._ ” 

“Me too,” Wooyoung murmurs. It’s sincere, so genuine Yeosang can feel it with two simple words. 

“Next time, then?”

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

☼

The dance floor is just as full as when they left it, but it’s noticeably devoid of a cowboy princess. 

“Think they’re back at the table?” Wooyoung asks, winding his fingers with Yeosang’s.

He shrugs back. “Couldn’t hurt to look.”

They climb up the closest set of stairs, wandering around until the view becomes familiar and San’s silvery chest comes into view. 

He’s standing by their table, raising a hand and flashing a dimpled smile in greeting when he sees them. One look at Yeosang’s face is all it takes for him to just _know_ , winking at him when he sees Yeosang blush.

“What’s going on? Are we doing more shots?” Wooyoung bounces excitedly when they reach the booth.

“Not exactly.” San gestures to the inside, where Yunho is seated next to Mingi, running a hand up and down his back. There’s a glass clasped between Mingi’s hands, the condensation forming a little puddle on the table as he sips at it slowly.

“Is everything alright?” Wooyoung’s tone becomes worried as he slips into the booth on Mingi’s other side.

Mingi smiles and flashes him a thumbs up. He presses the screen of his phone to unlock it, the notes already open.

_‘It's just a bit loud and crowded. Needed a little break.”_

Wooyoung nods, understanding.

“You can just hang out here for a while. I’ll stay with you and we can people-watch?” he suggests. Mingi smiles, straw caught between his teeth.

_‘I was actually thinking of heading back to the hotel for the night.’_

“Oh, okay then. I’ll come with you,” Wooyoung says, hand joining Yunho’s as he rubs Mingi’s back. 

Mingi begins to shake his head furiously, rapidly typing something into his phone.

_‘No! You stay here and have fun. I can get back myself, don’t worry.’_

“Well I can’t let you go alone—”

_‘I’ll be fine!’_

“I’ll go with him.” Yeosang interrupts before he even registers the words slipping from his lips. Mingi and Wooyoung stop and stare at him, questioning.

“I don’t mind,” Yeosang shrugs. “Clubs aren’t really my scene and I’m really tired from all the, uh, dancing.”

San snorts. “The dancing, huh?”

“Yes, the dancing.” Yeosang rolls his eyes, smiling. 

“Are you sure?” Wooyoung asks, eyes wide.

Yeosang nods, sincere. He really is tired. Wooyoung drained every drop of energy from his body; he feels he’s sleep walking, everything filtered through hazy film, real but not quite.

“Let me at least call you a ride,” Yunho insists. 

There isn’t any arguing with him, so not fifteen minutes later, they all stand by the entrance to the club, watching as a car pulls up to the curb. 

“That’s your ride,” Yunho says, waving at the driver. 

“Let us know when you get back?” Wooyoung requests, hugging Mingi tight before reaching for Yeosang.

“We will, promise.”

“That’s two promises, now,” Wooyoung whispers low in his ear so no one else hears. He pulls away with a wink, moving to stand next to San as Yeosang blushes furiously.

They wave from the car window until the three of them are specks in the distance, settling in for the quiet car ride back. It feels faster than the trip before, reaching the hotel in what feels like five minutes.

The lobby is deserted, even the front desk standing empty as they walk to the elevator. The cool, conditioned air of their room is a godsend compared to the hot humidity of the club. It’s still dim inside though, the room flooded with that same crimson hue as when they first arrived.

Yeosang watches as Mingi fiddles with the lights for a good five minutes. There’s a tiny remote underneath the bed that controls the glow from beneath and from overhead, and Mingi mixes and matches until finally settling for a blue base and a red overhead that cast a violet shadow all around them.

He flops back against the pillows, his sweaty, matted hair clinging to his forehead. Mingi is kneeling by his duffel bag, rummaging through his clothes.

“Hey,” Yeosang says. “You did really well. I’m proud of you.”

Mingi turns around and shoots him a brief smile, tired, but genuine. Proud. But then it suddenly transforms into a mischievous smirk as he raises his hand from his bag, revealing a thin green cylindrical shape.

“Oh, you did not,” Yeosang says, dropping his mouth and gasping. “Where did you get that?”

Mingi retrieves his whiteboard and a dry erase marker and writes, _‘Yunho gave it to me hehehe >:D’ _ . He tosses the joint and a lighter over to Yeosang, erasing his note and writing another. _‘I’m gonna take a quick shower, feel free to start smoking it.’_

Yeosang chuckles to himself as he watches Mingi disappear behind the bathroom door, turning the lighter over in his hand. He’s never done this by himself, so he just prays that what he remembers from the night at the rich dude’s house comes back to him.

Sticking the paper between his lips, he flicks open the lighter, startled by such a flame so close to his fingers. He holds it to the fat end and waits for the end to smoke up, just like San had instructed Wooyoung to do, inhaling once he feels the familiar warmth permeating his mouth. The taste is slightly different from what Yeosang remembers, but he and his limited marijuana knowledge theorizes that it’s a different strain. Whatever it is, the effects of it hit him just minutes later, after two hits.

He slumps down, feeling his head melding with the plush pillows beneath him, gazing up at the red projected sky. The joint is still in his loose grasp, that is, until he feels it disappear from between his fingertips. He sits up, or thinks he does, and exclaims, “Hey! I was holding that!”

Mingi chuckles beside him, holding out his whiteboard that says, _‘you should go shower too.’_

Yeosang squints at the message, his vision blurring at the edges. His eyes are stinging again. “Uh… help, maybe?” He holds his arms out wide. “Carry me.”

What happens next is a flurry of events that Yeosang doesn’t register as they’re happening. Mingi sticks the joint between his teeth, biting down on it gently as he helps Yeosang to his feet, one arm thrown over his shoulder. Yeosang does manage to walk just fine, though the hardwood starts to feel like a carpet, tiny little bristles tickling his feet to the point where he’s laughing all the way to the shower. Mingi turns the water on, instructs Yeosang to strip by simply tugging at his shirt, and smears a makeup wipe over his face. All the while, Yeosang continues to laugh because it feels like a million baby fish are kissing his face.

And Yeosang can’t tell if it’s the weed or his inner voice speaking, but he swears he hears somebody say, “Clean up, idiot,” followed by a thoroughly amused laugh.

So Yeosang obeys whoever is speaking to him and scrubs until the water and suds feel nonexistent. Until he feels nonexistent. And he announces, “I’m nonexistent!” And the shower door opens and the water is immediately shut off and there’s a towel cocooning his body.

He’s laughing again as his sushi roll of a body lands back on the mattress. There’s a unique aroma wafting into his nostrils, something sour yet floral yet citrusy. It makes him smile.

“Mmmmingi,” he drawls. “So nice. You are so nice to me.”

He hears a laugh. An unfamiliar one.

“Thank you,” a voice replies.

“And you looked really good tonight. You look good all the time.” Yeosang sighs happily, rolling onto his side and nuzzling the comforter. “Everyone looks good all the time. I wanna look good all the time.”

“You do,” the disembodied voice says.

“I dunno.” He sighs again, sadder this time. “I think all of you guys are beautiful. And I want to think I’m beautiful too. I hope that I do one day.”

“You will.”

Yeosang smiles, his dry eyes falling shut. He feels fingers under his chin, nudging his face right side-up.

“Drink.”

Yeosang sits up, just barely, and opens his mouth to allow the gentle stream of water into it. He swallows it gladly, followed by an enunciated “ahhhh.” He hears another laugh and feels a hand in his hair.

“Sleep.”

“Okay.” Yeosang titters, collapsing back onto his pillow. The hand follows him on the way down.

When he was little, his mother would read him bedtime stories. She would tell him tales about a prince that was blessed by an angel, who grew up to lead his kingdom of thousands into prosperity. The prince had long blond hair and was loved by many, a cherished man with conquered battles and endless triumphs accumulating under his name. What Yeosang found peculiar was that this prince didn’t die. His mother always left him with an open ending no matter how many times she told the story.

She would sing songs about him and whisper Yeosang to sleep while stroking his hair. He always fell asleep within minutes, blanketed by the stars and the promise of a new day, embraced by the comfort of his mother.

And then came the days where Yeosang would shut and lock his door, keeping his mother out and the monsters trapped in.

And then came the day where the queen found the prince’s fatal flaw. Hidden not-so-discreetly in one of his drawers lay his bloody sword.

_“Yeosang, what is this?”_

_“It’s nothing.”_

_“It doesn’t look like nothing! Let me see your arms, now!”_

_“Mom, it’s not—”_

_“Now!”_

Yeosang can feel himself swallow as the hand continues to stroke his hair in such an eerily similar way.

“Thank you…”

He reaches up to find the hand and links his fingers with it.

“Because of you… I can sleep again…” He yawns and lowers both hands and presses a kiss to the knuckle. “The monsters are gone… for now… and yours will be too.”

There’s a sigh.

“Sleep, Yeosang.” The voice is gentle. Deep. Doting and loving.

So he does. He sleeps. It covers him like a downy blanket and hugs him welcomingly like his mother used to.

His final thought before the darkness takes him, is that his name has never sounded so beautiful.

☼

Another shot in and a half hour after Yeosang and Mingi left, Wooyoung finds himself sandwiched between San and Yunho. With his arms hooked around Yunho’s neck and ass pressed back against San’s crotch, they continue to dance the night away under neon strobe lights and a berry-filled fog.

At one point, Yunho leans down, lips positioned dangerously close to Wooyoung’s ear, and purrs, “You have no idea how fucking _sexy_ you look.”

San chuckles from behind him. His and Yunho’s hands are intertwined at Wooyoung’s waist, though his begin to travel upwards, grazing Wooyoung’s sides before sliding in and around his chest. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Absolutely _stunning_.” He makes it a point to bite down on Wooyoung’s ear, and Wooyoung has to tighten his hold around Yunho just to stop his knees from buckling.

Wooyoung’s breath is stolen from him again in that instance, squished between two _beautiful_ men who somehow manage to make him feel like the brightest star in the sky, the most vibrant flower in the patch, the apple of their eyes and so much more. For once, he feels _loved_ , in a way that isn’t just his parents saying those three words in passing.

_Because being loved doesn’t come in just words._

It comes with being understood. Accepted. Welcomed.

And Wooyoung feels all of those when he is with them.

Wooyoung doesn’t know what time it is when the three of them finally stumble back out onto the radiant streets. It doesn’t _matter_ what time it is when he feels like he has all the time in the world. What matters is the hands that guide him, that hold him, that roam his body in ways that he’s never had the pleasure of experiencing prior to this whole vacation.

 _Only you_ , Wooyoung thinks as Yunho kisses along his neck in the backseat of the Uber, _only you guys are able to make me feel like I am the only star in the universe._

Somehow, Wooyoung isn’t tottering on his feet as he exits the car. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline combating the alcohol left in his system, or the sheer anticipation of what awaits behind their hotel room door. Whatever the case, Wooyoung feels nearly stone cold sober as he and San and Yunho push past the one thing that stands in their way of a night to end all nights.

“Wooyoung.” Yunho is the first to speak as soon as the door is shut behind them. He grabs Wooyoung by the waist and pulls him in, mouth to mouth. “You have no idea… how incredibly proud we are of you.”

And it’s something out of a fucking movie, when Yunho _lifts_ him off the ground, one arm swooping under his ass while the other supports his back. He lands on the bed with a soft thud as San and Yunho climb onto it in a maelstrom of limbs and stripped clothes. It’s as if Wooyoung has lost all control of his movements, simply allowing his instincts to take over as Yunho pulls him in again, connecting their lips in a much different way than the first.

“So gorgeous,” San whispers against his exposed shoulder before kissing it, his hands following the curve of Wooyoung’s spine, down to his ass. “And all ours.”

“All yours,” Wooyoung responds, words slurred. He mounts Yunho, swinging one leg over him and reconnecting their kiss as San continues to work his magical hands on Wooyoung’s ass.

“Let us take care of you,” Yunho says, thumb tracing the sharp line of Wooyoung’s jaw. “You did so well tonight.”

“We’ll make you feel so good,” San adds.

And who is Wooyoung to decline such an offer?

So he finds himself sandwiched between San and Yunho again—this time, unclothed and feverishly aroused. Wooyoung learns that Yunho is _huge_ , though it doesn’t come as a surprise considering the size of the rest of him. With his mouth warmed up from his tryst with Yeosang back at the club, he engulfs what he can as cold, lubed fingers glide over his hole before pushing past the puckered rim.

“Here.” Yunho’s voice cuts through the sound of Wooyoung’s blood surging through his veins. He’s holding the bottle of lube out to him.

“What?” Wooyoung takes it, confused.

“Get me ready,” Yunho says.

“Y-you’re not serious,” Wooyoung says breathlessly, though he’s already obeying the request, uncapping the bottle.

“I’m dead serious.” Yunho chuckles, fingers briefly sweeping through his hair. “We’re going to make you feel _good_.”

Wooyoung’s head is too jumbled to process the fact that he’s only had sex _once_ , with San, _alone_ , and he’d been the one to bottom. And now, Yunho is insinuating that he’s going to do _both_? At the same time? Wooyoung can’t even _begin_ to process, and though the internal panic of it all is there, present and flooding his body, something stands in its way. He’s inexperienced in such an extreme realm, but he can’t find it in himself to mind all that much as his fingers slip inside Yunho, a body other than his own.

He takes Yunho back into his mouth, moving his fingers in what he thinks is a similar way to how San’s are working his. All the while, Yunho caresses his hair and San even _eats him out_ , a new sensation that has his knees locked and skin aflame in mere seconds.

They fumble with the condoms but they manage, and San is the one to invite Wooyoung to go first. To lean in, forward, become one with Yunho. So he does, pushing past the tight rim and into a warm sheath that blackens his vision for a split second—that is, until San is pushing into him and he’s launched back into reality, being that he’s hovering above Yunho while being skewered by San.

Never has he seen Yunho quite like this—mouth parted, panting heavily in moans that _Wooyoung_ is the reason for. _He’s_ the reason why Yunho looks like this, hair clinging to his forehead in sweaty lumps, makeup smudged, face locked in an expression of pure pleasure.

With his cock inside Yunho and San’s cock inside him, hitting that spot inside him as Yunho’s tight heat clenches around him, Wooyoung is quite literally seeing stars in the neon lights as his eyes flutter from so much stimulation.

“God, Wooyoung, so fucking _tight_ ,” San grunts, his thrusts propelling Wooyoung forward, even further into Yunho.

Wooyoung’s mouth falls open into a piercing moan as San’s cock collides straight into his prostate. “ _Fuck_ , yes, _ri_ _ght there_!”

A litany of moans tumble from his mouth as the force from San’s movements sends Wooyoung reeling, driving his own thrusts into Yunho.

“Oh _god_ , don’t stop,” Yunho moans as his hands fly back to the headboard for some form of leverage, pushing himself down to meet Wooyoung’s thrusts.

“Beautiful,” San pants against Wooyoung’s ear, wrapping one arm around Wooyoung’s chest. “So fucking _beautiful_.”

“S-San…”

“You’re so pretty when you cum, baby,” San goes on, that fucking devil. “You gonna cum for us like a good boy?”

Wooyoung _whines_ at that, his thrusts faltering as an orgasm threatens to take him then and there.

“Wanna see you cum,” San growls, pulling out and tearing the condom off as he lands by Yunho’s side. Wooyoung watches him, puzzled, until he says, “Keep going. Fuck him.”

It’s just him and Yunho now. Assisted by San, Wooyoung was able to move no problem. But now, it’s all Wooyoung. Wooyoung is the one who has to move by himself now.

He bites his bottom lip as he looks back down at Yunho, who’s watching him with an expectant yet encouraging gaze through hooded eyes. “Do it, Wooyoungie. Fuck me.”

With a deep breath in, Wooyoung steels himself on the bed and picks up his movements again, this time without San’s help, and to his surprise, it’s not as difficult as he thought. What’s difficult is trying to _last_ , because Yunho is moaning shamelessly and San is staring at them with such an intense fervor that Wooyoung can feel it without even looking at him.

“S-San, I can’t…” His eyes screw shut, thrusts growing sloppy.

“It’s okay, Wooyoung.” San tilts his chin up, smiling as he leans in to kiss him. “Go and cum for us. It’s okay. You did so well.”

“Cum inside me, Wooyoung,” Yunho pleads, hand furiously fisting his cock. “I’m close too, g-gonna—”

Wooyoung uses whatever’s left of his strength to push as far as he can go, cumming deep inside while pressing up against that spot that leaves Yunho’s mouth wide open, eyes rolled back into his head. He cums at nearly the same time, insides squeezing Wooyoung for all he has as long white spurts land over his belly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” San says through gritted teeth, slick sounds of his hand pumping his cock adding to the mix of Wooyoung and Yunho’s moans. “Wooyoung—”

Wooyoung manages to lift his head and open his mouth as San rises to his feet, just in time for San’s cum to land over his swollen lips and on his willingly pliant tongue. Wooyoung gazes upwards, smiling as he licks his lips and cleans himself of San’s cum. San’s defined chest heaves as he comes down from his high, smiling back at Wooyoung before chuckling, that ever-present smirk returning with a laugh that has Wooyoung’s heart sealed away.

Secured away in a treasure chest bound by sturdy chains and a padlock that only four men have the key to.

Unsurprisingly, Yunho has enough energy to lug them all into the bathroom to clean up. Perhaps it’s because Yunho always seems to have an infinite amount of energy, or at least an endless arsenal of energy packs that he recharges every single fucking second, but they all manage to get showered, the drain water swirling with glitter.

They fall back into bed still, clothes scattered about the room, but they couldn’t care less.

Once again, Wooyoung finds himself between two men—this time, being held in an embrace so tender, so _fond_ , that he has to fight back tears.

 _Men don’t cry._ It was one of the first rhetorics that Wooyoung ever learned.

Tonight so far has been a night of shattering those rhetorics and leaving them as dust to be kicked up by the wind and whisked away.

And it is the last rhetoric to break this night. Wooyoung bursts into tears, head buried in Yunho’s neck, tears soaking into his flawless caramel skin.

“Please tell me these are happy tears,” Yunho whispers as he presses a kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead.

“Yes. _God_ , yes, Yunho. You guys…” Wooyoung sniffles, choking back a sob. “Y-you guys… you guys have no idea how grateful I am. I get to be myself around you. I get to live my life without feeling like I’m being suffocated by the words that have trapped me for so long. And I-I…”

San slips a hand over Wooyoung’s waist as Wooyoung’s body shakes with violent sobs. Grounding him. Keeping him warm.

Tender. Caring. _Loving._

“It’s your life, Wooyoung,” Yunho says, his deep voice husky from the night’s raucous events. “It’s nobody’s but yours. Live it as you would your own, not anybody else’s.”

Wooyoung’s fingers curl into Yunho’s shoulder, squeezing it harder. It’s firm, steady, like the man it belongs to.

_There are not enough words in me to tell you just how grateful I am to have someone like you in my life._

_Even if our time together is short._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed heehee  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading, hope to see you again next chapter 😊💙
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
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	8. Frozen Treats and First Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yunho lowers his hand from Yeosang’s face, resting it on his knee instead. “Yeosang. I don’t… want you to feel like this is something you _have_ to do, or something that you want to do just so you can get it over with—”
> 
> “It’s not like that, Yunho. I want to do it with you because I _trust_ you and I don’t know how long it’s going to be until I find someone I’ll trust as much as you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for 3k hits! We are so grateful for such a positive response to this fic. We hope that you enjoy the rest!
> 
> We got some spicy stuff in this chapter! Enjoy ;)

When Yeosang’s eyes crack open, it’s still red. Still purple and blue. One of his hands is intertwined with another. And he really has to pee.

He manages to unroll himself out from his cocoon, wobbling into the bathroom to take a piss, and as he’s doing so, he realizes he’s completely naked.

Well.

He finds himself too weary to care and climbs back into bed when he’s finished with his business, burying himself under the blankets instead, when he remembers that Mingi is in, or should be in, the same room.

“Oh, fuck, Mingi?” he calls out. He blinks several times, attempting to clear the fuzz from his vision.

And there Mingi is, directly in front of him, in the clearest 20/20 vision view, smirking. He has the edge of his whiteboard under his palm, holding up a message that reads, _‘I shouldn’t have let you smoke before i went to shower.’_

Yeosang bursts out laughing. “I think I agree with you on that one. What happened?”

_‘You don’t remember?’_

“Uh… you helped me shower, right?”

_‘Right :)’_

Yeosang’s eyes widen at the realization. “Shit, you saw me naked?”

_‘well i wasn’t about to send you in there with all your clothes on’_

“True,” Yeosang says with an embarrassed chuckle.

Mingi smiles fondly, shaking his head as he erases the message. _‘How are you feeling?’_

“Good,” Yeosang answers, running his hand through his still damp locks. “How long has it been?”

_‘about an hour’_

“Ah.”

While Yeosang doesn’t feel necessarily _high_ , he is still drowsy, his skin and bones still tingly, still slightly buzzed. He’s certainly not entirely sober, but he quite enjoys _this_ feeling.

Where he’s still on the ground but his head is in purgatory. Where he can feel nothing and everything as his five senses absorb everything around him, from the colors to the fresh laundry scent to Mingi.

_Mingi._

Yeosang looks at him. He has his head propped up on one elbow, watching Yeosang. Observing him, almost.

“You can lie down,” Yeosang invites. “I like cuddling.” Rather, he likes the _idea_ of cuddling since he’s never cuddled or been cuddled before.

But Mingi slinks down anyway, under the covers, face-to-face with Yeosang. His hand briefly touches his waist, and he looks down hesitantly.

“Yes, it’s okay,” Yeosang says.

Mingi nods, sliding his hand over Yeosang’s waist, around to the curve of his back, and he pulls him in until their noses have bumped together and he can feel their breaths merging into one. Yeosang lets out a subtle, silent gasp at the closeness.

“I… uh…” Yeosang chuckles awkwardly. “This is really nice.”

Mingi nods to concur. “And, uh… thank you. For tonight. I mean, I should be thanking everyone, but since you’re the one here, I… yeah.” Mingi smiles at that, removing his hand from Yeosang’s back and cupping his face with it instead, thumb brushing over his birthmark. His smile dissipates into one of wonder, one of curiosity. One of awe.

And the strange thing is, Yeosang can _feel_ it.

It’s the way he notices Mingi looking not into his eyes, but right next to them. The way Mingi’s lips part ever so slightly, his own eyes moving in short saccades as they trace an outline of the mark. As if they are familiarizing themselves with it, mapping it out, making sure that it is known. That it is _loved._

Yeosang finds himself wrapping his hand around Mingi’s wrist, locking his hand there.

“You know, when I think about it, I don’t really understand why I hate it so much.”

Somehow, he smiles. As if years of monsters crawling underfoot, threatening to yank him down with them, were never there in the first place.

“How are all of you able to make it so beautiful? Like it’s something to be loved? I just…” Yeosang laughs incredulously, his fingers gently caressing Mingi’s wrist. “I can’t believe how long it took to find people who see me for more than what’s on my face.”

_How long it took to find you. All of you._

_Why has the universe kept me from you for so long?_

_And why must it take me away again?_

Mingi doesn’t say anything, of course, but it doesn’t matter. Not to Yeosang. Because in Mingi’s eyes, he can see an entire world of monsters, of wriggling hands and razor-sharp claws, one slapped over his mouth and rendering him speechless. A world of nothing but darkness and pain and the fear of being pulled under again should he open his mouth.

That is what Yeosang imagines, but of course, he wouldn’t know. His parents are still alive and well. They are back at the house, the one that Yeosang barely spends time at anymore. They are proud of their son for digging himself out of the bloody grave he was ready to die in. They wait for him to come home each night and don’t mind when he doesn’t because he’s finally found people who make him feel like he isn’t some hideous creature like the ones that haunt him.

Yeosang’s eyelids fall, but they don’t close. He relishes in the feeling of somebody caressing his flaw instead of mocking it, loving it instead of loathing it. And he breathes him in.

“Thank you for making my world a brighter place,” he whispers.

_I would be lost without you._

Suddenly, a noise breaks through the heavy silence, one that Yeosang remembers all too well. It takes his mildly inebriated brain to catch on, but then it happens again. And again.

Mingi’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

“Holy shit,” Yeosang whispers, propping himself up on an elbow and pressing his ear against the wall. The one he can hear most clearly is Wooyoung, his shrill moans overpowering the blockade between the rooms. “They’re fucking _again_? Seriously?”

Mingi shoots him an incredulous look before snatching his whiteboard off the nightstand and writing _‘_ ** _AGAIN????_** _’_

There’s another moan, one that Yeosang doesn’t recognize. Mouth agape, he slides back down and slips back under the covers, his face locked in one aghast expression. Mingi swiftly rubs the previous message away and writes, _‘holy shit i think that’s yunho???’_

“Holy shit, they’re… they’re having a fucking _threesome_?”

Mingi makes a face of consideration before writing, _‘why am i not surprised?’_

Yeosang scoffs. “Can’t argue with you there.”

Mingi shrugs and sets the board back down, climbing back under the covers, though his back remains pressed flat against the mattress, eyes trained on the ceiling. For the first time in a while, his expression is unreadable.

“Have you… done anything with them?” Yeosang asks timidly.

Mingi turns to him, puts his fingers to his lips, and mouths, _‘Yunho.’_

“Ah.” Yeosang glances away, stomach churning as he contemplates telling Mingi that his best friend blew him in the club’s bathroom just a few hours ago. But maybe now isn’t the time, considering that same best friend is also happening to be getting it on with the person Mingi kissed.

Mingi mouths, _‘Have you?’_

“Um… y-yeah.” Now or never, Yeosang supposes. “San kinda kissed me—not on the mouth, though. And Wooyoung. We, uh… did some stuff back at the club.”

Mingi’s lips press together in a thin line as he suppresses a laugh. “What?” Yeosang chuckles, swatting at Mingi’s bicep. “Hey, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing, okay? I wasn’t expecting it to happen.”

No matter what Yeosang says, Mingi keeps smirking. A know-it-all kind of smirk, one that says things like “I knew it” or “That was predictable.” Shaking his head, Mingi rolls onto his side, facing Yeosang once more. The distance between them has grown with the sudden onslaught of nextdoor sex, but Yeosang supposes it’s probably for the best.

Because as the sounds grow in volume and frequency, Yeosang is finding it harder. Literally.

“So fucking _tight_ …”

“Yes, _right there_!”

“Oh _god_ , don’t stop…”

“Damn,” Yeosang thinks aloud, glancing up. “They’re really going at it—”

The bed shifts suddenly, abruptly, that Yeosang’s muddled senses barely register the fact that Mingi has just attacked his lips. It happens so quickly that Yeosang doesn’t even _move_ his at first, paralyzed as Mingi’s plump lips encase his over and over. When his brain finally catches up, he manages to kiss back, at a slower tempo, until their lips fall into a smooth, steady rhythm that somehow matches the occurrences of the moans from next door.

Yeosang whimpers into Mingi’s mouth as Mingi’s large hand finds its way to his back again, this time pressing their bodies together until Yeosang’s bare cock collides with Mingi’s clothed one, and even through the obstructing fabric, Yeosang can feel its hardness. He can feel himself sweating again through already damp locks and sheets, and the surrounding cloth becomes all too hot, too much for Yeosang’s liking. As if Mingi senses this, he pulls away to rid himself of his shirt, glancing down at the bulge in his pajama pants briefly before flitting his eyes back up to Yeosang as if to ask for approval.

“Please… off,” Yeosang murmurs, his hands already making a hasty beeline to assist Mingi out of his pants.

Something must have shifted in him. Normal, completely sober Yeosang wouldn’t roll over to straddle Mingi’s lean body, he wouldn’t lean down to kiss Mingi tongue first, he wouldn’t press their bare cocks together to the sound of their friends fucking in the room over. And while Yeosang isn’t _completely_ sober, he’s certain this isn’t exactly something he’d do had he not met these extraordinary friends of his in the first place. He isn’t bold. He isn’t rowdy or ebullient or forward, not like _this._

But it’s something about _them_. Something about the four of them that makes him feel like he can do absolutely anything, and they will see him and welcome him no matter what.

And that’s what Mingi does—the quiet boy welcomes him in despite both of their voiceless actions. Mingi doesn’t _need_ to speak to communicate what he feels; the fervor and vice grip on Yeosang’s hips are enough to get the point across. When Mingi’s tongue brushes his lips, swipes over his own tongue, Yeosang understands.

Mingi doesn’t need to speak for Yeosang to understand.

It’s every nuance of the motions. It’s each and every one of Mingi’s subtle signals and hints, wanting more, hesitating, holding back, speeding up, slowing down… that’s all it takes. That’s all it takes for Yeosang to understand what Mingi wants in that very moment, listlessly rutting against each other to the moans of their friends, painfully hard and leaking.

When Mingi is close, his nails dig into the thin skin of Yeosang’s hip and his breaths quicken, a soft moan even breaching his lips and into Yeosang’s mouth. That alone is enough to make Yeosang’s cock lurch, the first few spurts of his orgasm making their way out of him and onto Mingi’s stomach. Mingi’s voice, or the short-lived preview of it, is deep, thunderous and rumbling in his chest from what Yeosang can tell. Low and dripping with desire. Desperate to reach the outside world, so close, yet so far.

Mingi cums with a rough, long groan, pulling Yeosang in harder, their mouths as close as they can be. The vibrations are _strong_ , a magnitude so gargantuan that Yeosang can feel it in his taut chest. It goes as quickly as it came, fading into a deep sigh instead, followed by hot and rapid breaths that are reminiscent of berries and electricity.

The sounds on the other end of the wall don’t cease even after Mingi and Yeosang have cleaned up, redressed themselves, and tucked themselves back underneath the covers. But Yeosang doesn’t find himself minding much as he embraces Mingi from behind, fingers intertwined and tired breaths merging into one.

“Mingi,” Yeosang whispers, unknowing if Mingi will hear him or not. “I’m not afraid when I’m with you. All of you.”

On the brink of a much-needed slumber, Yeosang presses a final kiss to Mingi’s shoulder and feels the gentlest squeeze of his fingers.

☼

> _Yunho took us to a neon city with colorful lights and even more colorful people. Thanks to him, Wooyoung smiled for an entire night. It is the first time I have seen a smile from him with such longevity. For one night, we lived like there were no fears within us, as we danced with the colors that swallowed the dark._
> 
> _Yeosang and I… we did things that night, too. And I’m starting to want more._
> 
> _Yunho has done so much for us. I wonder if he would be willing to help me with this as well._

☼

A gentle drizzle patters down on the windowpane as Mingi tucks his journal away. Wooyoung emerges from the adjacent bathroom, a towel tied around his waist, hair wrapped up in another, chest damp from the shower. Though even in the low lighting, Mingi can see that his chest still isn’t entirely bare.

There are uneven patches of green and yellow scattered across his neck, chest, and collarbone like flowers in full bloom. Evidence of the escapade that Wooyoung had been a part of, the very event that still has Mingi reeling even days later. He eyes the marks curiously, wondering just how hard one would have to bite down in order to leave marks that last that long.

“What, you gonna watch while I change?” Wooyoung is looking at him with a smirk that oddly resembles San’s, hands on his hips.

Mingi blinks rapidly, turning his head away.

“S-sorry.” Mingi spares one more glance at him, but instead of smirking, Wooyoung is staring at him with wide eyes.

“You… said sorry,” he says, mouth agape.

“Y-yeah.” His words come out as mere whispers, breaths that have just enough sound to be distinguishable as words. He offers Wooyoung a shy smile, head still tucked down as his mouth twitches in embarrassment.

A sharp breath escapes Wooyoung’s nose, either a scoff or an incredulous laugh. He sits on the edge of his bed, eyes trained on Mingi as his smile brightens.

“You’re speaking.”

“Kind of.”

Wooyoung _does_ laugh this time, light and shrill like a bell chime, excited hands reaching over to grab Mingi’s. “Mingi… you’re speaking.”

Mingi’s shy smile grows as well, though his shoulders sink inward in a shrug, because as much as he’s “speaking,” it’s not coming out as much. There’s no timbre, no way of telling what he actually sounds like.

But it’s something. Though his own voice sounds foreign to him, it’s _something._

And Wooyoung is looking at him with proud eyes that seem to twinkle, grinning from ear to ear as his fingers squeeze Mingi’s.

Mingi clears his throat, reaching over to the nightstand for his phone.

_‘Cuddle?’_

Wooyoung reads the single word and chuckles.

“Of course we can cuddle.”

When Wooyoung is dressed and they’re under the same covers, Mingi is thirteen again. Small and afraid, tormented by the night’s predisposed nightmare. Awakened by the dark, the claws from below yanking his body to drag him down again. Feeble and trembling, hot tears stinging his cheeks, curled up in Wooyoung’s arms as Wooyoung held his head to his chest and stroked his hair until the tremors stopped. Sometimes they didn’t.

Except now, Mingi is eye-to-eye with him, almost nose to nose, arms bent against his chest, fingers tracing the faint marks that litter it.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been like this. Just the two of us,” Wooyoung says.

Mingi nods in assent. “You haven’t stopped staring at them.” At the observation, Mingi’s eyes flit upwards to meet Wooyoung’s, only to see that the boy is smiling at him knowingly. “It’s okay. They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

Mingi nods again, though he makes the conscious effort to keep looking at Wooyoung.

It’s as if the galaxy never left his eyes.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Wooyoung whispers. He cups Mingi’s cheek, brushing his thumb just under his eye, where there would have been tears. “Always have been, always will be.”

“I know.”

Wooyoung smiles again. He’s been doing it a lot lately.

Mingi mirrors Wooyoung, smiling as he cups his cheek, but his thumb brushes over the corner of Wooyoung’s mouth instead.

“I l-love… y—smile.” The ‘your’ gets trapped, but it’s okay.

_He doesn’t have to speak for Wooyoung to understand him._

So Wooyoung smiles wider as he curls his fingers around Mingi’s wrist, holding his hand in place. His eyes slip shut with a deep sigh, his thumb rubbing circles into Mingi’s hand.

After a few minutes, unsure if Wooyoung has fallen asleep or not, Mingi leans in to leave a chaste kiss on the tip of Wooyoung’s nose, his chest blooming with flowers as they wrap him up in a tranquil sleep.

☼

**[Yeosang]**

_Hey_

**[San]**

_oh yeosang, hey!_

_what’s up_

**[Yeosang]**

_I was wondering if I could talk to you_

_Like in person_

_I know this place that has really good shaved ice and we could meet there_

**[San]**

_i’m down!_

_you ok?_

**[Yeosang]**

_Oh yeah, I’m fine_

_Just have some things on my mind and I think that you’d understand_

☼

Yeosang picked a good day to get shaved ice.

The sun is ruthless today, beating down on unbothered beach town locals, but for San, who’s a slave to the moon and darkness instead of the halo-like brightness of the sun, it’s almost intolerable, how hot it is. As the shaved ice place isn’t too far from San’s hotel, they stop by, the sweet air conditioning slapping both of them in the face as soon as they walk through the doors.

The hotel room remains untouched. San left some of his stuff there just in case, only to leave it to the dust bunnies. He’s hit with a strange sense of nostalgia, even though the room has only been vacant for a few weeks.

The shaved ice in his cup is half-melted, though the lemon syrup infused into it stays potent and sour as it pools at the bottom. San practically drinks the rest of it as Yeosang prods at his with the miniature hot pink spoon.

“So what did you wanna talk about?” San asks.

Yeosang smacks his cherry-dyed lips. _Cute._ “Um… it’s kind of about the club. But like, not just that.”

“Oh.” San winces. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

“N-no! No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Does it have to do with what you and Wooyoung did in the bathroom?”

Yeosang’s eyes blow wide open. “Wait, you know about that? Did Wooyoung tell you?”

“He didn’t need to tell me. You guys came back and his lip gloss was nonexistent.”

“Oh.”

San chuckles. “Seriously, what’s up? You okay?”

“Yeah, just… I guess, after that night, I started thinking about a lot of stuff. A lot of past stuff, a lot of present stuff… and, well, I thought that you might understand.”

They take a seat at the edge of San’s bed, hip to hip. Yeosang is poised, hands neatly met on his lap as he stares at the floor ahead of him. “Before we left for the club, I told Wooyoung that everything is beautiful around you guys. That beauty just _is_. And because of that… I started to feel like beauty didn’t matter anymore. ‘Cause, you know, my entire life was shaped around the fact that I didn’t think I was beautiful.”

San frowns, as Yeosang’s hopeful tone simmers into something sour, something filled with doubt.

“And that holds true. I stand by that.” Yeosang swallows, fingers tightening around his cup. “I’ve had so many beautiful moments with you guys. There is beauty _everywhere_. But San… you know what it’s like. You know what it’s like to have words follow you. And you know what it’s like to suffocate at the hands of them.”

Something twists in San’s chest as Yeosang turns to look at him, his eyes almost as forlorn as when San had first met him. An unwelcome nostalgia that San doesn’t want to revisit.

“I’m scared,” Yeosang admits in a shaky whisper. “I’m scared that once this is all over and we’ve parted ways that… I won’t find this beauty again. A-and I… I’ll be alone again. The words are still _there_ , San. And they’ll never go away.”

San lets out a deep breath as Yeosang’s head slumps into his shoulder. “You know what it’s like,” Yeosang says. “And you understand.”

“Yeah.” San’s eyes land on the floor. “I do.”

“And that’s the thing. When everyone is apart, I won’t have anyone who understands anymore.”

“Well, don’t say that.” San has it in him to scoff. “We have each other’s numbers. We can still talk. We might not be able to see each other in person, but…”

_...but there will be nobody to hold us at night._

_There will be nobody to hug us and kiss us when things get bad._

_The beauty will be so far away._

San sucks in his bottom lip as his words trail off.

And he is certain Yeosang knows why.

“I… I feel like I’ve changed, definitely,” Yeosang says. “Being with you guys has given me so much hope, so much excitement and euphoria and… I know I’ve changed. I know. I’m not gonna hurt myself anymore, like, I’m _way_ past that. And when I’m with you guys, I don’t hate what I see when I look in the mirror. But at the same time, what if I fall again? What if I start hating myself again? What will I do?”

He lifts his head up, meeting San’s eyes with glossy ones, his bottom lip quivering. “What will I do if the beauty fades from my life?”

San swallows thickly, his hand coming up to grasp the back of Yeosang’s neck, pulling him in and resting his forehead against his. Yeosang sniffles, a broken sob landing on San’s face.

“The beauty will always be with you because you _are_ the beauty, Yeosang,” San says, his own throat closing, tears threatening to pool in his eyes. “You have us. You have memories of us. All of our beautiful times together. And while we might not know if we’re going to see each other again after this summer…”

He winces at the very thought.

“...you just… you have us, Yeosang. Even if we’re not there with you. You won’t be alone anymore. You have _our_ words. I know that the words you’ve heard growing up will stay with you. I _know._ But I want _our_ words to follow you just the same, if not more. Okay?”

San separates their foreheads and sees Yeosang closer up than ever before. He swipes his thumb just below the very mark that spurred the venomous words in the first place and wonders how anybody could be so cruel.

Yeosang gives him the slightest of nods.

“Thank you, San.” Yeosang gives him the best smile he can muster through the tears.

“Of course.”

San continues to rub the back of his neck, coaxing the last of his sobs out of him, holding him near.

“Beauty just is,” San whispers.

The words feel like gold on his tongue.

☼

The heat is still blistering when they leave the hotel, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead before trailing warm streaks down the side of his face. San watches as Yeosang waves, arms bare and scars stark against skin that’s slowly tanning into a light honey, evidence of all that’s changed. 

Yeosang was right. He’s changed so much that San can hardly see that boy he’d met at a bonfire, a quiet thing that couldn’t stand the taste of beer and couldn’t stop throwing shy glances at Wooyoung whenever he spoke or laughed. This man who waves at him and smiles so brightly it’s nearly blinding is not that boy. Not even close.

Yeosang walks a bit taller now, he doesn’t hunch in his shoulders and try to disappear. He texts them, and he texts them _first_ , unafraid to hit that daunting ‘send’ button. He has trysts in dingy club bathrooms, and dances to bass-heavy music, and likes pornstar shots of all things.

The long sleeves are gone, his pain written so clearly on his skin that it sends pangs of agony through San’s heart. To know that little, young, suffering Yeosang did that to himself, to numb himself to words crueler than any blade… it makes San ache. 

But things are different now, the scars a reminder of the past. They may have hurt then, but they don’t hurt now. The body suffers and bleeds, but it heals and it grows.

Healing creates scars—ugly, bumpy things that tell us that we made it through something horrible, and came out stronger than before.

So yes, Yeosang has changed. More than he can ever know. And it’s a beautiful thing to witness. 

San watches until Yeosang turns a corner and disappears before turning on his heel, walking in no particular direction. It’s some odd day of the week and an even odder hour, the beach town a smidge quieter than usual as San simply wanders. His shoulders burn where his sleeveless shirt doesn’t cover them, turning a toasty shade of red, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much.

His feet move on their own, slipping in loose sand before stepping onto the nearly invisible path that Yunho had shown him all that time ago. It’s familiar to him now, the hard dirt, every loose stone and hidden root. The incline is an easy climb, and the view is still as glorious as the first time he’d seen it. The sun isn’t rising like that day. It just hangs in the sky, soaking the land in midday rays. San falls to the ground with a huff and a sigh.

The thinking place feels like home now, a comforting place where there is nothing to distract him but the distant din of waves hitting the solid rock face before retreating back to the ocean. 

Yeosang had said it himself—the five of them don’t have much time left together. 

Every summer before this one had felt too _long_. It hadn’t helped that he’d smoked each day away, drinking when he ran out of weed and drunk-texting his dealer who always offered to drop by and bring something to “take the edge off.” It was a vicious cycle. A painfully slow, excruciating cycle where he’d watch the hands on the clock tick by with hazy eyes, the sun rising and falling outside his window until hot summer days turned into chilly autumn ones. 

San would welcome that change, that telltale nip in the air that would force him to slide his worn jacket over his arms, engulfing the black lines of ink etched into his skin with faded leather. Sometimes he would throw on a mask, covering his snake bites and go for walks. And the people? They wouldn’t _stare._ They wouldn’t gawk at his tattoos or piercings because in the cold, everything is hidden away, secured by zippers and thick, dark fabric.

But when it’s hot, when the sun beats down so relentlessly, forcing him to shed his clothes just to find a moment’s reprieve from the heat, that’s when people would stare, unashamed. He always acted like it didn’t bother him, that being examined like a specimen under a microscope didn’t faze him in the slightest. But deep under his skin, his blood would boil, a concoction of anger and agony, and something that felt dangerously close to shame. 

So San had learned that summer isn’t for him. He much preferred autumn, or winter, maybe even early spring when the snow was still melting away and leaving murky trails of water that swirled down the street drains. 

Murky trails so unlike the cerulean glint of the ocean as it roars and crashes against the shore. Those little streams he used to follow and stomp his feet into just to hear that satisfying _splash_ have nothing on the pure power of the ocean. Back home, he was in control. He could pull himself out of the depths and carry on.

But here, the ocean is all-consuming. He’s stuck in the current, slave to the ebb and flow. Salty water rushes all around him. He hadn’t noticed himself drowning at first; it’s difficult to notice the slow rise of the tide when there are so many beautiful things that make you forget. 

There is Wooyoung, looking at him with a bemused smile. 

“What’s a local supposed to look like?” he’d asked, and San had no answer for him. There was no answer, if he’s being honest. 

So he’d just said what he thought at that very moment. “I like your answers.” 

His leather jacket had sat in his room since that first week, collecting dust with the rest of his belongings. And San found that he quite enjoyed the sensation of a cool summer breeze on his scorching skin, especially when that heat didn’t come from scathing stares, but rather from a friendly sun.

There is Yeosang, who was skittish and shielded. Who bore the prettiest shade of pink on his face, and who bore the most violent shades of tan and brown on his arms. Yeosang, who is so lovely but refuses to believe it. Yeosang, who now sees beauty in everything but himself and is afraid that it will disappear forever. He tried to reassure him, but San wasn’t so sure that what he said was true. It is true that they can give Yeosang their words, and their kisses, and their love. But in the end, is it enough? 

San had told him it would be, that all he had to do was remember _their_ words, not the others’. But he and Yeosang know better than most that beautiful words are quiet, whispered into still air and brushing over skin like butterfly wings, and cruel words are ear-shattering, each syllable piercing through skin and muscle and bone until they can worm their way into your very soul. 

San wishes so much that his words are true, so Yeosang only hears the beautiful words when they’re no longer with him. 

Then there’s Yunho. Sweet, kind, _lonely_ Yunho who’d opened his arms and his empty home to them all. San’s tiny hotel room is a foreign space compared to the way he knows Yunho’s house like the back of his hand. And Yunho’s body… San has spent minutes, _hours_ mapping every inch of his tall, muscled frame into his memory. There isn’t a whole lot to do with just the two of them in the house for long nights and even longer days without the others. Finding _activities_ to occupy themselves proved to not be much of a challenge. 

The couches, the floor, the beanbags, the kitchen counters, on the stairs, in front of the not-really fireplace—they christened every surface. When San fucks Yunho, it’s hard and fast. Not because San wants it to be over quickly, but because Yunho feels so fucking _good._ He can’t control himself, his hips having a mind of their own as they furiously pound into Yunho, relentless. He tries to make up for it, running his hands down Yunho’s back, over his chest and shoulders, pulling him in for long, messy kisses, and whispering sweet nothings against his skin when he cums. 

Yunho fucks San slow and deep, laying him on his back and wrapping his long arms around his waist and shoulders. He’s gentle and rough at the same time, light touches paired with powerful thrusts that make San see every single star in the night sky. Yunho isn’t very loud, moans muffled against San’s shoulder or hair. But it’s his grip that San notices the most. When Yunho lets himself go, when he’s shaking in pleasure so intense it feels like pain, he holds San so _close._ He presses his lips against San’s sweaty neck and chokes out low groans that sometimes sound suspiciously close to muffled sobs. 

When they’re done, that’s when Yunho speaks. “You feel so good, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” San only laughs, running his hands through Yunho’s sweat-soaked hair. He knows what Yunho really means. 

_I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone._

So San lets Yunho hug and cuddle him as tightly as he needs; he would be lying if he said he didn’t need it too.

And Mingi… San still doesn’t quite know what to make of him. He’s wonderful and kind, thoughtful and selfless despite what San knows of his past. Even now, the tiny package Mingi had gifted him sits heavy in his pocket. He’d given it to him a couple of days after that godforsaken road trip to the cliff, stealing away during a quiet moment to press the hastily wrapped package into his palm. San had merely stared open-mouthed. Mingi hadn’t really offered an explanation, only smiling before turning to rejoin their little group. San slipped it into his pocket, promising quietly to open it later. Only, he hadn’t.

He’d certainly thought about it on many occasions. There is no good reason why he couldn’t bring himself to open the gift. It’s unassuming, probably just a small token. And yet his fingers refused to tear the package, only turning it over in his hands before placing it back on his nightstand.

Now it sits in his hands, a dinky little box somehow holding the weight of the world, wrapped in crinkled paper. The thinking place seems as good a place as any to open it. There are no prying eyes, no burning questions. Just him, his thoughts, and Mingi’s gift.

It’s plain wrapping, hastily done, a single piece of tape holding the whole thing together. San smiles, because it’s so _Mingi._

He doesn’t tear the paper, only picking at the single piece of tape until it falls away, opening the gift all on its own. Inside is a simple black box, nothing particularly special about it. The material of it is velvety under his fingertips as he picks it up, turning it over. San shakes it by his ear, but nothing moves inside it. 

_What if it’s empty?_

The thought makes San chuckle aloud, the deep sound carried away by the wind. He doesn’t know whether he’d be relieved or offended if Mingi had gifted him an empty box. 

He knows opening it is inevitable; he brought it all the way out here and after weeks he’s finally worked himself up enough to remove the paper packaging. So he does, flipping open the lid with a muted _snap._

All thoughts in his head vanish as San stares down at the little box, this little gift that felt so heavy, and now San knows it was for good reason. So many beautiful things that made him forget, that distracted him from the fact that he was drowning in change, and this is the final rush of water to pull him under. Before he was up to his neck, salty drops falling from his chin as tender waves undulated around him. But now the floodgates are open, and everything collapses on him, dragging him into the depths of a bottomless ocean. 

He’s afraid to breathe at first because he thinks it will hurt, _knows_ it will. There isn’t a child out there who hasn’t jumped into a pool and gasped for breath too early, allowing water to inch into unsuspecting lungs and emerging from the depths coughing for dear life. That pain, that deep burning in his chest isn’t a feeling that San would like to revisit anytime soon.

So he holds his breath as long as he can, until his lungs scream for release and his vision becomes spotty around the edges. Not because he’s offended; this certainly isn’t an empty box. He isn’t relieved either.

No, this is entirely different. 

San is _afraid_. Afraid and in disbelief.

Disbelief because _how did Mingi know_ , and fear because his walls—the ones he’s spent years building around himself—are crumbling. So many bricks and unmalleable metal, the strongest barriers San could muster fall away in moments, as if they’d never existed in the first place. They might as well have been invisible, because Mingi sees right through him.

Nestled in velvet is a pair of earrings, glinting silver against a deep black. They’re delicately made, all thin lines and intricate loops, the chain links so tiny that San can barely see them. Never in his life did he think that he would own something so lovely and dainty, not when his exterior is so rough around the edges. 

When San finally breathes, it’s a gasp that makes him crave for more. And it doesn’t _hurt_. Instead it makes him feel light, full of air. Like he’s weightless, floating rather than sinking and whisked away on powerful currents rather than being dragged along them.

It’s fitting, considering Mingi’s gift.

He feels like he’s flying.

The pair of earrings—two wings fashioned in the most elegant design he’s ever seen—flash at him in the midday sun. 

Mingi had given Yeosang color, and for San, he’d gifted him wings. Freedom. An escape from life on the ground. 

It’s ironic considering that San is terrified of heights, but he couldn’t be more grateful. When you’re hanging from the monkey bars, or standing on the edge of a cliff, your body is a slave to gravity. There is no other way out. Once you jump—or once you fall— there is only one way that it will end: the cold, hard ground.

San has always known this, hadn’t considered that there was another way. But Mingi had. Mingi had seen right through him. 

The sky was waiting for him, his horizons infinite. Shackles like his tattoos and piercings don’t matter when he’s a thousand feet in the air. They never mattered, San supposes. The others had never looked at him differently despite the way he looked. They’d only seen _him._

The earrings glint in his hands, a pair of wings made of silver and air and gifted to him with a kind smile and quiet love. He cradles it in his hands, the most precious gift he’s ever been given. 

_Thank you for seeing me._

_Thank you for showing me a way out._

☼

Alone to his thoughts once again, Yeosang stares up at his ceiling, phone in hand. His parents are out and about as they usually are, having left him with a note on the kitchen island that let him know that they’d be home “later.” It’s nearing midnight and they haven’t returned, but he doesn’t put much thought into it, not when his mind is occupied with… other things.

It’s the way they look at him. The way they touch him. How San had kissed his neck so sensually at the club, and _Wooyoung_ … Yeosang still has to shake himself to register it as something that actually happened. It wasn’t just another one of his fantasies.

And drunk Yeosang had promised that he would return the favor.

Now sober, he’s feeling the panic creeping back up on him. Ultra mega virgin Yeosang, who hadn’t even been kissed prior to Wooyoung at the club, offered to return a favor he’s never even _done_ before. The confidence that came with the pornstar shots is nowhere to be found.

Swallowing his shame, Yeosang raises his phone and opens up the browser and searches:

_‘How to give a blowjob’_

And that’s how he ends up scrolling through articles, diagrams, and porn, all of which make it seem so _simple_ , but that can’t be the case. Yeosang remembers the tears Wooyoung had shed choking on his cock, the way Wooyoung moved his tongue so intricately, in perfect harmony with his mouth, how he sucked the _life_ out of Yeosang… how the hell can he replicate pleasure like _that_?

 _“Even your dick is beautiful.”_ The words were funny then, still slightly funny now, but something else is churning in him, the same feeling that came with hearing Wooyoung and San having sex the first time, then hearing them and _Yunho_ all having sex, his little tryst with Mingi, and even the simple kiss Wooyoung had left on his knee back at the pool.

It’s the raw _want_ , the desire to be touched and felt up and kissed. To be wrapped up in somebody’s arms, having the pleasure ripped from his body. He closes his eyes, mind traveling back to blue and red and purple, the mellifluous moans from behind the wall ringing in his brain. He releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, thighs itching and tight, wanting to be _touched_. It’s an entirely new sensation, wanting something like this so badly.

Before, Yeosang hadn’t even had thoughts about sex like this, not even taking the time to search up porn for his own pleasure at night like a lot of teenage boys would. There were much different things on his mind then, but now, there are people who _want_ him in this way. Never in his life did he think there would be, and now, he’s paying the price for an entire adolescence of inexperience.

The porn that Yeosang watches escalates from blowjobs to _sex_ sex. And never once did he think he would be watching two men having sex for “educational purposes.”

Despite the exaggerated acting and cheap camera cuts, Yeosang can’t help but feel that spark in his belly, igniting off the rungs of his ribs, exploding from his heart. Ultimately, it’s the four of them on his mind, replacing the bodies he sees on screen, the memory of their moans overpowering the admittedly distasteful sounds coming from his earbuds. And he is the one beneath them, taking in all the pleasure they give him.

The next thing he knows, his pants are down to his ankles and there’s cum streaked across his stomach.

He also realizes that he’s totally _fucked._

(Or, he hopes he will be.)

☼

Friday night. Yunho has invited everyone over for a casual hangout and Yeosang’s fingers can’t stop trembling. Curled around a glass of some kind of pineapple-y cocktail Yunho whipped up for him, they feel as if they’re being zapped by lightning, burning against the chill of the drink. As he watches Yunho and Wooyoung engaged in a very animated conversation about some horror movie they watched together not too long ago, his eyes flit about the room, desperately searching for something to land on that isn’t San eyeing him hungrily.

And it’s not just San. Maybe Yeosang is hallucinating from the hormones bombarding his body, but he swears he noticed Wooyoung looking at him in a similar way before he got immersed in his conversation with Yunho. And _maybe_ Mingi spared him some glances too, but Yeosang has been too occupied making sure he doesn’t break the glass from how hard he’s gripping it to really notice.

The entire conversation that Yunho and Wooyoung are having is drowned out by the phantom moans of his friends taunting him, luring him back under neon lights. Except he’s here, in Yunho’s living room, surrounded by Wooyoung’s screeching, distracted and undeniably aroused for no apparent reason. He’s trying his damned hardest not to appear as perturbed as he feels. He can’t let them see him like this.

Yeosang can’t help but feel a bit guilty at the massive internal sigh of relief he lets out when Wooyoung and Mingi go home, leaving a very tipsy San and an arguably less tipsy Yunho with him.

“Think ‘m gonna go to bed,” San slurs, followed by a hiccup and a giggle. Yeosang checks the clock on the wall beside the stairs. To his surprise, it’s only just past midnight. “G’night.” He trudges up the steps with a lazy wave, leaving Yeosang and Yunho in the living room.

Yunho chuckles. “He’s turning in early.”

“He’s very drunk,” Yeosang says, amused. With the majority of them gone, he can finally breathe.

“Trust me, you haven’t seen him shitfaced like I have. It’s a lot more to deal with,” Yunho muses.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fantastic.” Yunho smiles blissfully as he reclines back on the beanbag. The television has been turned off, leaving them in a tranquil, comfortable silence. A kind of silence that Yeosang was never used to prior to meeting them.

It was silence that wasn’t really silence. Where Yeosang was alone in his bedroom, knees drawn to his chest as voices floated around in his brain, echoing in his ears. Here, accompanied by Yunho, the man he trusts with his life, the silence is no longer deafening.

“What about you?” Yunho asks.

“I’m good. The drink you made me was really good.”

“You sure have a sweet tooth. Remember when you ate that entire funnel cake by yourself? I was astounded.”

Yeosang laughs as the fond memory replays in his mind. How powdered sugar coated his entire mouth, and how he’d coughed some up after—

_“Bro, what else does that tongue do?”_

And coincidentally, both Yunho and Yeosang got to find that out for themselves.

“You okay?” Yunho asks seemingly out of the blue, until Yeosang is sucked back into reality, being that he’s just choked on air.

“Uh… yeah.” Yeosang clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“You seemed a little on edge the whole night. Is something up?” Yunho is looking at him with genuine concern, furrowed brows and a smile that isn’t really a smile.

“Um…”

“Sorry if it seems a little intrusive, but does it have anything to do with Wooyoung?”

Yeosang’s eyes fly in Yunho’s direction, wide with panic. He shouldn’t be that surprised, though. With how much time they’ve all been spending together, and with how intuitive Yunho can be, it’s only natural he would be able to draw such a correct conclusion.

_Except it isn’t just Wooyoung._

Yeosang has to remind himself, this is _Yunho_ he’s talking to _._ The man he trusts with his life.

“Just… please don’t tell him, okay? It’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah, of course. What’s wrong?” Yunho sits up from his relaxed position on the beanbag, attentive.

“Well, it’s not like something’s _wrong_. Just… Wooyoung and I did some… _stuff_ back at the club—”

“Well that much was obvious,” Yunho chuckles. “Sorry. Continue.”

“And, y’know, I was kinda drunk off the pornstar shots so I was feeling really confident. I told him I’d make it up to him, but fucking Christ, Yunho, I’m a virgin! I’d never even _kissed_ anyone before Wooyoung kissed me at the club. And I might be going crazy but I swear San had his eyes on me all night tonight, maybe Wooyoung too, and… god, I’m so pathetic.”

“Hey.” Yunho stands up and sits himself besides Yeosang on the sofa. “You’re not pathetic just because you’re a virgin. Being a virgin is being a virgin.”

Yeosang releases a relieved yet pained sigh as he buries his face in his hands, cheeks hot with embarrassment. “Is that what’s worrying you? Not knowing what to do when things get heated?” Yunho asks.

“Yes? I think. I don’t know.” Yeosang groans. “Can I be honest with you?” Yunho nods, signaling him to continue. “I heard you and Wooyoung and San back at the hotel.”

“Oh.” Yunho looks away, an expression of guilt rising on his face. “Sorry about that.”

“N-no! Don’t be. It’s just… uh… both Mingi and I heard and we… uh. Yeah. We did some stuff too. N-not _sex_ sex though.”

Yunho’s mouth drops open. “You and Mingi? Really?”

Yeosang lets out a final sigh and groan as the dam holding back his words shatters, his frustrations pouring from his mouth. “Yes, and everything that happened that night is driving me nuts because I want it so badly it _hurts._ I want to feel like that, I want to know what it’s like to have sex. I want to stop being such a lame virgin and join you guys because—”

He clamps his hand over his mouth at the words that just fell out of him. 

_Join them?_

“Oh god. I’m so sorry.” Yeosang’s heart is pounding so hard that it feels like it’s going to drop from his chest and out of his ass. “I didn’t mean, like, _join_ you guys… I mean, like, I want to stop being a virgin because you guys aren’t virgins. Yeah.”

A glint of mirth crosses Yunho’s face. He’s trying not to smile, Yeosang realizes. “Yeosang.” He places his large hands on both of Yeosang’s shoulders, gripping them firmly. “There is _nothing_ wrong with being a virgin. Virginity is a social construct anyway. What you’re saying is, you want to have sex. Yes?”

“Yes.” The single word feels like a fraction of the weight lifting from Yeosang’s chest.

“Is it because you want to, like, impress Wooyoung or something? Because if you’re worried about him not enjoying sex stuff with you, you’d be dead wrong.”

“You think?”

“Dude, I _know._ Wooyoung would love anything you do together. But, hey, I understand the want to please somebody who’s more experienced than you. It’s scary and intimidating, even if it’s Wooyoung.”

“It’s not just Wooyoung… San too. He… I think he wants to, too. I don’t know.”

Yunho chuckles, dropping one of his arms and slinging the other around Yeosang’s shoulders. Yeosang finds himself falling into Yunho’s half-embrace, his head fitting perfectly into Yunho’s neck. “Yeosang, can I be perfectly honest with you right now?”

“S-sure.”

“I think it’s safe to say that all of us want you in that way.”

Yeosang lifts his head. “You… what?”

Yunho smirks. It reminds him of San.

“Yeosang, you might not be able to see it because… I know how you see yourself. But you’re _gorgeous_. You think that any of us would be opposed to doing sexual things with you?”

Another hot flash spreads across Yeosang’s face, surging downward to his belly as well. It’s stirring again. That pleasant yet unpleasant feeling. The want, the desire.

 _They…_ _want me?_

“Yunho…”

Yunho’s smirk softens into a wholesome smile as he slides his arm down, his entire hand cupping Yeosang’s cheek. It’s so warm.

It’s so _hot_ all of a sudden. Too hot. A single touch from Yunho is sparking all sorts of feelings that rattle off of Yeosang’s bones, erupting, surging through his bloodstream, yet he’s oddly calm, comforted by Yunho’s genial presence. _The man he trusts with his life._

“Yunho.” His voice doesn’t tremble this time, his hammering heart pushing the next words out of his mouth. “Will you have sex with me?”

Yunho’s eyes widen, as if he hadn’t been expecting such a bold question from such a shy boy. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Yeosang says. He steels his voice and body, willing his heart to slow. “I trust you, Yunho. I want… I want you to show me how. What to do, how to make someone feel good. Please.”

Yunho lowers his hand from Yeosang’s face, resting it on his knee instead. “Yeosang. I don’t… want you to feel like this is something you _have_ to do, or something that you want to do just so you can get it over with—”

“It’s not like that, Yunho. I want to do it with you because I _trust_ you and I don’t know how long it’s going to be until I find someone I’ll trust as much as you.”

An emotion that Yeosang doesn’t recognize flashes across Yunho’s face, a brief moment of _something_. Surprise, definitely. But there’s something else there, something that Yunho has been _hiding_. 

“I… okay. Yeah.”

“So you’ll do it?”

Yunho’s hand tightens on Yeosang’s knee. “Yeah. But not here. Come with me.”

Yunho’s massive hand swallows Yeosang’s fingers as he guides him up unfamiliar steps, ones that he’d had to be carried up because he’d been high out of his mind. Down a semi-familiar hallway, into a room that he remembers vaguely.

The bed is bigger than he remembers it to be, about four times bigger than the twin-sized bed back at his house. It’s perfectly made, the room in almost pristine condition save for the pile of laundry accumulated in the corner. “Yeosang.” Yunho’s voice snaps him out of his nostalgia reverie as he glances around the room. Yunho is already standing at the edge of the bed. “Come here.”

It’s an easy request to obey. Like a magnet to metal, Yeosang steps towards Yunho in a coy stride, toe to toe by the bed. All they have to do is fall onto it.

“You trust me?”

Yunho almost seems… unsure.

“Yes, more than I’ve ever trusted anybody in my life.” In a spontaneous moment of confidence, Yeosang finds his hands trailing up Yunho’s sturdy arms, up to his broad shoulders before coming to a join behind his neck. Yunho reciprocates, hands sliding around Yeosang’s waist, fingers barely grazing the skin beneath his shirt.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?” Yunho says, tugging Yeosang down with him.

Yeosang nods with a tiny “okay” before the two clamber onto the enormous bed. Big enough for three people, occupied by one most nights.

As Yeosang finally closes the gap between their lips, he can’t help but think about how lonely it must be.

Kissing Yunho is unlike anything Yeosang has ever experienced. Whereas kissing Wooyoung and Mingi was messy, affected by an alcohol and marijuana-fueled haze, kissing Yunho is smooth sailing, his lips moving in perfect sync with Yeosang’s, even when Yeosang’s inexperience shines through and his lips slip. Yunho brings him back to shore, steadying the rhythm, and when his tongue swipes along Yeosang’s bottom lip, a tiny moan falls from both of their mouths.

Yunho’s hands disappear underneath Yeosang’s shirt as he flips him over and hovers above him, eyes having filled with lust, reminding him of how Wooyoung had looked at him. “You’re so beautiful, Yeosang,” Yunho says, lifting Yeosang’s shirt.

To Yeosang’s own surprise, he strips himself of it entirely, even helping Yunho out of his own. He’s staring, but he can’t help it. Serving as a lifeguard has its obvious perks, evident by Yunho’s sculpted, well, everything. From the broad expanse of his shoulders to his chiseled abs and collarbone, every square inch of Yunho spells everything Yeosang has ever wanted to be.

_Beautiful._

The word is whispered into his skin along with gentle kisses over his chest as Yunho traverses his body for the very first time. His hands seem even bigger this time around, big enough to cover almost the entirety of Yeosang’s abdomen.

“What do you want?” Yunho asks him.

“Can I blow you? And can you, like, tell me how to?”

Yunho nods. “Yeah, I can do that. But, uh… I don’t wanna sound like I’m bragging, but I’m… above average.”

The news shouldn’t be a surprise to Yeosang considering Yunho’s overall size, but when the clothes are finally off and Yunho’s cock is bare and open, the sheer intimidation that comes with just _looking_ at it creeps up on Yeosang, rendering him speechless.

“It’s okay, I’ll guide you,” Yunho says as Yeosang arrives at his hips. He comes to a stop in front of Yunho’s hard cock, grasping the base and gawking at how hot and heavy it feels in his hand.

“I, um, kind of looked up what to do,” Yeosang admits meekly, running his thumb just below the head. “So hopefully I’m not atrocious at it.”

“The tongue is key,” Yunho says. “And use your hand if it becomes too much. Personally, for me, the messier the better.”

Yeosang nods, cracking the tiniest of smiles before dragging his tongue along the length of Yunho’s cock, something that he remembers Wooyoung doing to him. Maybe, if he wracks his brain for everything Wooyoung did to him that night and replicates it, he can make Yunho feel just as good.

He sure as hell doesn’t take Yunho down all the way on the first go, opting for about halfway as he maneuvers his tongue, attempting the “messy” approach and coating it with as much spit as he can. The more Yeosang bobs his head, the easier it becomes, especially with the help of his hand. Yeosang thinks of it as like sucking a really, _really_ thick finger. Oddly enough, it helps.

“You’re doing great,” Yunho says in a husky sigh, threading his long fingers through Yeosang’s hair. “A natural. Wooyoung would love it.”

Yeosang pulls off and swallows, smiling as he pumps Yunho’s length a few more times. “Thank you. But… it’s not about Wooyoung right now, Yunho. This is about you.”

A delighted grin spreads across Yunho’s face as he sits up and pulls Yeosang back in by his shoulders. “You are—“ He presses hasty kisses along Yeosang’s neck, tongue gliding across the milky skin. A low moan escapes him as he throws his arms around Yunho’s shoulders. “—so beautiful.”

“Y-Yunho—“

“It’s almost unreal,” Yunho breathes, his hands descending Yeosang’s spine, down to his ass. “How ethereally beautiful you are.”

“Yunho, _please—“_

Yeosang is the one to pull him back down. With his back now flat against the mattress, Yunho kneels just between his spread legs.

“I have an idea that might make this easier for you,” Yunho says, reaching under his bed to retrieve a fucking Tupperware with a bottle of lube, condoms, and various sex toys in it.

“You keep all that under your bed?” Yeosang asks in disbelief.

“Comes in handy,” Yunho says with a shrug. He takes the lube and a condom out… along with a black toy and what looks to be a remote. “It’ll help loosen you up more than me fingering you will.”

Certainly shorter than Yunho’s dick, the toy is less intimidating in comparison. “It’s clean, don’t worry,” Yunho adds quickly.

“I’ll try it,” Yeosang says. Couldn’t hurt to, he figures.

“Here.” Yunho guides Yeosang’s legs back open and uncaps the bottle of lube, drizzling a generous amount over Yeosang’s cock, collecting it and running down over his hole. Yeosang shudders at the sudden cool wetness of the lube in areas he’s barely explored himself.

And then, Yunho’s finger is pushing inside, the intrusion unlike anything else Yeosang could’ve prepared for. It stings, almost, but not unpleasantly. “You okay?” Yunho asks as his finger reaches its hilt.

“Y-yeah. Doesn’t hurt, just feels weird.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s normal for a first time. Have you fingered yourself before?” Yeosang shakes his head. “Good thing we’re doing this, then.”

Yeosang finally gets what Yunho means when his fingers have stretched him enough for the toy. Yunho takes his time before inserting it, however, making sure Yeosang is comfortable, whispering “are you okay”’s and “does it hurt”’s. When the toy is finally nestled inside him, it almost feels natural.

And then, Yunho turns it on.

“Oh my god.”

Yeosang’s entire body jerks at the sudden vibrations coursing through his body. His cock lurches, thighs twitching as the toy wriggles around inside him, pushing his walls apart.

“Yunho, I— _ah_!”

Yunho’s long, graceful fingers wrap around Yeosang’s slicked up cock, stroking it expertly. Leaning in, he connects his lips with Yeosang’s once more, one hand working his cock and the other tweaking his nipple.

“ _Mmph,_ Yunho,” Yeosang pants against his lips, “f-feels good.”

 _Too_ good.

With three areas stimulated at once, Yeosang rolls his hips helplessly, a familiar fire blazing in his abdomen as he blindly reaches for something to grab onto.

“Yunho, stop, I can’t… I’m close…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Yunho whispers, flicking his wrist at the top of Yeosang’s cock. “You can cum.”

Yeosang says Yunho’s name like a chant as he cums, an orgasm that rivals the one at the club. Yunho switches the vibrator off as the final spurts land across his stomach, heaving with rapid breaths of sheer pleasure.

“How are you feeling?” Yunho asks, grasping the base of the vibrator, twisting it around.

“Too good,” Yeosang mumbles, his brain barely registering the question. “R-ready.”

The vibrator is left inside of him as Yunho prepares himself, rolling the condom onto his cock and slicking it up with the lube. When he finally removes the toy, Yeosang whines at the sudden emptiness, amazed by how such emptiness can take so much away. Yunho towers over him, eyes blazing and intense as he watches Yeosang’s reaction to his cock pressing up against his hole.

“It might hurt,” Yunho warns. “But we’ll go as slow as you need, okay?”

Yeosang nods timidly, hands clasped at his chest as he braces himself. “Relax,” Yunho whispers, patting the insides of Yeosang’s thighs, deft fingers gliding along baby-smooth skin. “Wait, did you _shave_?”

“Thought you wouldn’t notice,” Yeosang admits with a shy smile.

“God, you’re so cute,” Yunho says with a chuckle. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?”

Yeosang nods again, eyes locked on Yunho’s as the head of his cock pushes past the tight ring of muscle. He gasps, head tilting back as he’s stretched even further, more than what the vibrator gave him. “Try to relax, Yeosang,” Yunho says again, slowing his way inside.

Yeosang takes a deep breath as he wills his muscles to loosen, focusing on Yunho’s eyes on him, looking down at him as if he is something to marvel at. As if Yunho is _admiring_ him in a way. His mouth is open in a silent whimper, eyes focused on Yunho as the initial burn slowly fades into the simple feeling of being _full._

“It’s in,” Yunho says.

“It is?” Yeosang glances down, noticing Yunho’s hips flush against his.

“Not so bad, huh?”

Yeosang shakes his head. “Think the vibrator helped.”

Yunho chuckles lowly. “Am I okay to move?”

After a tiny nod, Yunho starts to move, and the full feeling shifts into something _more._ Still full, but it’s as if Yunho is hitting all the right spots, his cock dragging along Yeosang’s walls, stroking him from the inside. Yeosang’s own cock twitches every time Yunho brushes up against that spot inside him, his vision going blurry at the edges.

“You okay?” Yunho asks, his hips rocking at a steady pace.

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” Yeosang groans. “It feels r-really good.”

“I’m glad. You’re so fucking _tight._ ”

 _No surprise there_ , Yeosang thinks comically to himself, almost cracking a smile before Yunho knocks that spot again, causing a spark deep in his belly that makes his cock lurch and head spin. It hurts but it doesn’t. It’s overwhelming yet bearable. It’s _Yunho_ , perfection in a human body, mind, and soul. That’s all Yeosang can see.

Yunho’s hand wraps around his cock and strokes in tandem with his thrusts, perfectly synchronized. It’s grown achingly hard again, red and leaking against his stomach, eager to cum again.

It’s Yunho’s moans that do the trick in the end—how deep and gravelly his voice becomes as he thrusts into Yeosang, his eyes lidded and bottom lip sucked in. Utter _pleasure_ , Yeosang notices, and it’s because of _him_. _He_ is the one making Yunho feel like this, sound like this, _move_ like this. And the way Yunho looks at him… he wants the image of it seared into his brain.

He is wanted. He is _beautiful._

Yeosang cums with a broken whine and tears in his eyes, white streaks spurting across his stomach once again as Yunho’s thrusts speed up.

“Yeosang—“ Yunho grunts, fingers tightening around Yeosang’s thighs.

“ _Please_ ,” Yeosang begs. “Want you to cum.”

Yunho dips down to kiss him again, tongue and all, as he buries himself deep and cums with a long, deep moan into Yeosang’s mouth. He’s holding on tight, Yeosang notices, as his final few thrusts come to a halt.

Chest to chest, closer to anyone than ever before, Yeosang feels _powerful._

He made Yunho cum. He made Yunho feel good.

“Hey.” Yunho’s voice pulls him out of the clouds. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, why?”

Yunho smiles at him as he pulls out, leaving Yeosang whimpering at the emptiness again. His gentle fingers cradle Yeosang’s cheek, thumb swiping just below his eye. “You’re tearing up.”

“I am?” Yeosang blinks, feeling moisture gathered in his eyes. “Oh shit, I am.”

“Sometimes sex will do that to you.” Yunho laughs, his hand unmoving. “Really, though, are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Yeosang manages to sit up, his body only mildly protesting at the movement. Sore, definitely, but not painful. He shakes his head.

“I’m glad. You might feel it tomorrow, though.” Yunho tucks a few loose strands of Yeosang’s hair behind his left ear.

The side that everyone has always hated, but the four of them seem to love.

That’s what Yeosang feels.

He feels it when Yunho helps him into the shower and kisses him under the stream. When Yunho gives him the tightest embrace Yeosang has ever experienced, long and yearning, as if he doesn’t want to let go. When Yunho stays behind and watches Yeosang disappear back into his house before driving away.

It’s his heart fluttering in his chest. Heat flooding his ears. A permanent neon blush. The memory of faces that look at him with awe and pride rather than disgust and animosity. The butterflies dancing around in his stomach.

His bed feels much different now. No lumps or bumps, no darkness, no monsters to be seen or heard.

He sleeps peacefully that night, curled up in a warm blanket, but even that has nothing on the comfort that came with Yunho’s arms.

☼

**YUNHO AND DA BOIS**

**[San]**

_:)))))))_

_hey yeosang_

**[Yeosang]**

_Good morning San…?_

**[San]**

_how are you feelin :)))))_

**[Yeosang]**

_Uh, I feel fine?_

_How are you?_

**[San]**

_oh i’m fine, just a lil tired :))))_

_since you and yunho kept me up all night with your sex noises :)))))_

**[Yunho]**

_damn how come you never ask me how *im* feeling after we fuck_

_it’s always ‘your dick is so big yunho’ and never ‘wanna talk about your day yunho?’_

_:(_

**[Wooyoung]**

_wait WHAT??!?!?!?!_

_yeosang??!??! you and YUNHO????!?!?!_

**[Mingi]**

_i second that_

_y’all i think wooyoung is having a stroke_

**[Wooyoung]**

_asgdhjasgaiahksha_

**[Yeosang]**

_San, what the fuck?!_

**[San]**

_c’mon, it’s not like they weren’t gonna find out anyway!_

**[Yunho]**

_this is true_

**[Yeosang]**

_Still!!!_

**[San]**

_alright, fine, im sorry :(_

_…_

_on a scale of 1 to 10 how sore are you right now? ;)_

**[Yeosang]**

_SAN!!!_

☼

It’s been days, but still, those messages replay themselves in Mingi’s head, an endless loop of white letters in grey text bubbles, telling of something that makes Mingi’s bones burn and belly roil with want. 

_Yeosang slept with Yunho._

_Wooyoung slept with Yunho, and so did San._

Mingi has only kissed Yunho and that in itself was an extraordinary experience. Yunho’s lips felt like they were made for kissing, two perfectly soft petals that never crumpled no matter how hard Mingi had pressed himself against him. Yunho’s hands are so big, and they had encircled Mingi’s waist so flawlessly. 

But now all he can think about is where else those hands have landed, where else those lips had kissed. 

He isn’t jealous. Not in the slightest. 

What Mingi feels is a smoldering curiosity that’s being fanned into an uncontrollable flame with each racy thought that crosses his mind. 

Yeosang under Yunho, legs hooked around his hips and clutching at his shoulders for dear life. Yunho fucking into San so hard that his moans are punched out of him by sheer force. Wooyoung and San… Wooyoung and Yunho… Wooyoung between Yunho and San as they suck and bite those _lovely_ marks onto his smooth skin. 

_Fuck._

The first time this had happened, Mingi had sort of expected it. Moans and groans muffled by thin walls were a soundtrack on repeat in his head when he’d slid a hand quietly down his body, the rustle of fabric deafening in a dead silent room. 

It was the middle of the night and Wooyoung was fast asleep in the bed next to his, or so Mingi had hoped when he wrapped a cool hand around his burning cock, jerking himself off to the memory of Yeosang’s hands and lips on him as Wooyoung got fucked in the background (or did the fucking, Mingi didn’t particularly know or care). When he came, he came _hard_ , a fist pressed against his mouth to muffle his panting. His pants were soiled beyond the realm of comfort as he’d come from that _incredible_ high, not even caring when Wooyoung stirred as he slithered out of bed and made for the bathroom to clean himself up and get rid of the evidence. 

Looking Wooyoung in the eyes the next morning had proved difficult as they prepared breakfast.

“Hey, I heard you get out of bed at like three in the morning, were you feeling okay?” Wooyoung’s eyes were wide with concern, genuinely worried. His words sent a pang of guilt through Mingi. It was that same voice that had been playing in his head as he got himself off in a pitch-black room, blended with deeper moans and Yeosang’s gasps. It felt almost wrong to be so aroused by his mere voice, but that notion was washed away as swiftly as it cropped up, the memory of his intense orgasm glazing it over.

“Y-yeah. Had t-to pee,” Mingi had whispered, voice still rough but words decidedly more pronounced. Wooyoung had beamed, accepting his answer in good faith. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed the sopping pair of pants hanging in the shower this morning. Or he had noticed and chosen not to comment. Either way, Mingi was grateful.

The second time, it was once again in the dead of night, Mingi’s head running reels of what being fucked by Yunho would feel like. Would he be rough or gentle? Would he pull Mingi’s hair, or caress the back of his neck like he was made of glass? Would Mingi be sore too?

He knows what Yunho’s hands feel like already from that night in the rain—around his waist, gripping his ass… Mingi wonders what Yunho’s long fingers would look like around his shaft, or what they would feel like inside of him. When he cums this time, it’s with a gasp that sounds like Yunho’s name. 

It surprises him as well, the almost-moan that drips from his lips like sweet ambrosia. Despite the rough, quiet quality of his unused voice, the single word hangs in the air, ringing in his ears. Wooyoung doesn’t stir, and Mingi thanks whatever deity is watching over him as he quietly pads to the bathroom to replace his shorts and underwear. 

Needless to say, Mingi’s supply of pajama pants has been steadily dwindling over the past few nights, and tonight he’s down to his last clean pair. Wooyoung is in the shower, his soft humming audible through the door. It appears the thin wooden door won’t muffle anything above the volume of a whisper.

_Good to know._

Mingi fiddles with the bottle of lube he’s got hidden between the folds of his towel, his shirt and shorts thrown over it for good measure, disguising the lump in the pile. He’s determined to not ruin his pants tonight, and to not jack off while his best friend is peacefully sleeping not five feet away. He’ll have to be quiet and quick, which might prove a challenge because his voice seems to slip out more often than not when his head is full of indecent thoughts involving four particular men, one of whom he shares a room with and who likes to walk around wearing nothing but a towel after his showers. 

Wooyoung opens the door to the bathroom, steam billowing out in translucent clouds around him. As he expected, Wooyoung’s towel is slung low on his hips. Mingi eyes his chest; the marks are long gone, fading until it’s like they were never there. Even after all this time, Mingi still wonders what it would take to make marks like those on a willing body, how they would taste on his tongue. 

“What, did I miss a spot?” Wooyoung jokes, throwing his face towel at Mingi. 

He starts, not realizing that he’d been full-on _staring_ at his best friend’s bare chest, all the while fantasizing about leaving hickies on his beautiful, golden skin. 

He grabs his whiteboard from his nightstand, not quite trusting his voice not to give away what he’s feeling. 

_‘hah sorry, just zoned out’_

“Everything okay?” Wooyoung catches the towel when Mingi tosses it back, patting his face and neck dry. 

_‘yeah, just a bit tired’_

“Well then, go shower and we can head to bed right away,” Wooyoung says, slipping his shirt over his head. Mingi sighs, already missing the view. 

He doesn’t bother writing a reply, only nodding as a response and picking up his little bundle of clothes with both hands. The small bottle of lube shifts as Mingi grips the pile stiffly, willing his expression into cool neutrality.

The bathroom is still steaming when he pushes the door closed behind him, making sure to slide the lock into place. He’s already half-hard in his pants, the sweet feeling of being released from cotton confines doing little to quell the aching settling itself deep inside of him.

It’s an ache he’s never felt before, at least not quite so strongly. It’s a desire, a pure want to be touched, to be _filled._

Mingi nestles the bottle of lube next to his body wash as he pulls the curtain and turns the shower on. He’s already shaking in anticipation, the warm water soothing his tense body as he slides a hand down his now-wet torso to grip his slowly filling cock. It’s a rough glide with just water to help lessen the friction, but it still feels heavenly.

Mingi imagines it’s Yunho’s hands again—they’re such beautiful hands. So large, with fingers that would wrap around him so well and a fluid wrist that would twist when his grip reaches the sensitive head of Mingi’s length.

“F-fuck.”

It’s a mere whimper, but he clasps his free hand over his mouth anyway, quickening his pace until the friction becomes too much to bear without the smooth slide of lube. The bottle is uncapped hastily, the saccharine scent of vanilla permeating the hazy air when Mingi squeezes more than he probably needs onto his trembling hand. 

The lube is still cool despite the humidity of the bathroom, and Mingi shivers despite how _hot_ he feels. But no matter how fast he goes, how tightly he fists his cock, he wants more.

He wants Yunho.

He wants Yeosang, and San, and Wooyoung. 

Mingi wants them the way that they’ve already had each other. Bared and vulnerable, pressed so closely that it’s impossible to tell where one body ends and the other begins.

His body moves before his mind can register it, coating his long fingers in lube and twisting his arm behind his back so the cool digits can circle his puckered hole. Mingi gasps as a single finger pushes in, the slide easy and smooth and so, so welcome.

It doesn’t hurt; it’s more uncomfortable than anything. But when he moves it a few times, thrusting the single digit in and out of his boneless body, the pleasure begins to creep in. His other hand continues to pump his cock, the stimulation too much, but still not _enough._

One finger becomes two, and that’s when the moans begin to fill his mouth. Mingi bites his lip to keep them from spilling out, but it barely works, drawn-out whimpers and whines escaping him as he fucks his own fingers.

The angle is awkward, and his wrist is so sore, but he can’t bring himself to care when he slides in the third finger, his muscled rim stretching beyond anything he’s ever experienced. It burns for a moment, but Mingi welcomes the sensation. It melts away in moments, leaving only a desperate pleasure.

Yunho’s fingers are bigger than his, longer too. Mingi cannot even begin to imagine what they would feel like in him. His own fingers are overwhelming enough. He finally feels _full._

Mingi fucks himself with his fingers as his other hand strokes his cock in time to his racing heartbeat. The squelch of lube and water nearly overpower the sound of the showerhead spray pounding against the ceramic floor, but Mingi can’t stop. It feels so _good._

When he cums, it’s with a groan that is all too loud for that thin bathroom door to muffle, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters when his soul is soaring this high, a thousand feet off the ground. His body jerks with each spurt of cum that splatters on the tiled wall, hips undulating against a phantom body as he milks himself for all he’s worth. 

His breaths are heavy and his body is exhausted, but his mind is alive and swirling with a million thoughts.

_Is this what they felt?_

Mingi doesn’t know, but if it’s anywhere near as euphoric as this, he’s keen to find out. 

Getting cleaned up is easier than the last several times, the showerhead washing away the evidence in moments. When he trudges out of the bathroom, his body still trembles from the aftershocks of his orgasm, the ghost of it making the depths of his belly tingle.

Wooyoung is already in bed, scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t look up, and thankfully doesn’t mention that deep groan that had surely made its way through the flimsy wood of the bathroom door. 

He tucks himself into bed, rolling over on his side in a poor attempt to hide his flushed face. 

“Goodnight, Mingi,” Wooyoung whispers, getting up to switch off the light. He can hear the careful padding of Wooyoung’s footsteps as he moves back towards his bed, but even in the dark Mingi still doesn’t dare to turn around. 

“Goodnight,” he rasps. 

“Sweet dreams.” Wooyoung’s blankets rustle as he settles himself in, breathing evening out in a matter of minutes. He turns over only when he’s sure that Wooyoung is asleep, admiring his profile in the patchy moonlight. He’s so beautiful, a sleeping angel cocooned in downy fabric. 

Mingi sighs, eyes falling shut on their own.

_My dreams will be sweet because you’re always in them._

☼

The next time he sees Yunho, nothing feels different. Mingi expects the world to tip over on its axis, but everyone and everything remains stubbornly fixated to the ground when he lays eyes on one of the men that’s been plaguing his fantasies for the past week. 

It’s been several days since the five of them have been together like this, but Mingi finds himself slipping back into their familiar waters with ease. San teases Yeosang a little more, but quickly gives it up when he unabashedly answers his questions without a hint of a blush on his face.

“So how was it?” San jostles Yeosang with his elbow, waggling his eyebrows. 

“It was good. I think,” Yeosang answers, lightly shoving San back.

“Hey! I think I did pretty damn well!” Yunho interjects from across the room, looking affronted. 

Yeosang giggles. The sound is sweet, melodic. “I think it was great, I just have nothing to compare it to I guess. First time and all…”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that Yeosangie.” San winks at him, unashamed. “Yunho _is_ a great fuck though; you made a pretty good choice for your first time.”

“I think I made a pretty good choice, too,” Yeosang admits. 

_Yeosang’s first time… was with Yunho?_

Hearing it out loud for the first time, it makes complete sense. Yeosang _was_ a virgin. Having sex with someone, baring yourself to them completely… it takes strength, and confidence, and _trust._ Yeosang hadn’t been able to trust anyone. Not until this summer, when he could finally take off those long sleeves after years and reveal the pain he wears on his skin. 

He trusts them, and he trusts Yunho most of all. 

Yunho feels safe, like a home with a waiting hearth, so warm and inviting that all you want to do is curl up and melt in the warm embrace. 

_I’m happy for you,_ Mingi thinks. _That you were able to find someone you trust so implicitly that you were willing to bare everything._

Yeosang deserves that, and so much more. 

_We all deserve that._

The rest of the night passes in the blink of an eye, filled with chilled alcohol, and bad jokes, and a few stolen kisses here and there. 

San seems addicted to Wooyoung’s lips, pecking them gently whenever he gets the chance. They’re glued to one another, hands wandering over bodies that are now as familiar to them as their own. Mingi almost feels as though he shouldn’t watch, like he’s glancing through a peephole that he has no business looking into. But it proves near impossible to tear his eyes away when San cups the back of Wooyoung’s neck and pulls him in for a deep kiss. 

It comes as no surprise when San tugs Wooyoung to his feet and moves towards the front door. 

“I think we’ll spend the night at my hotel room,” San announces, slipping on his shoes and yet somehow never letting go of Wooyoung’s hand. “Anyone wanna join?”

The invitation is genuine; Mingi feels it as his gaze locks with San’s. There’s a flash of heat, a spark in his veins, and he wants so badly to say _yes._

He doesn’t of course, Yeosang piping up before he can even formulate a single word. 

“Can you guys give me a ride home on your way?” he asks, already moving to gather his sweater and notebook. He’s been carrying that around a lot less now, the memory of a shield that he no longer needs to protect him. Instead of clutching it to his chest, he lets it dangle from his fingertips, the tin of pencils shoved in his back pocket. 

“Sure, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung smiles, extending an arm to him. Yeosang reaches for his hand, blushing when Wooyoung twines their fingers together. They shout their goodbyes over their shoulders, closing the door behind them. 

Yunho moves to lock it, settling next to Mingi on the couch when he comes back. He’s so _close_ , bare arm pressed against Mingi’s, knees knocking against his crossed legs. Yunho smells like woodsmoke and sea salt, a familiar scent that wraps around Mingi and makes him feel dizzy with desire. 

“You want a ride home too?” Yunho asks, gently leaning against him.

Mingi shakes his head. He most definitely doesn’t want to go home. That place that he and Wooyoung rented… that’s just a house full of their stuff. It isn’t home. 

Woodsmoke and sea salt, large hands and cherubic smiles, kind smiles and lonely eyes. All the things that make up the man sitting next to him. Those things feel like home. 

Yunho feels like home.

“Wanna stay over?” Yunho prods, looking hopeful. 

“Yes pl-please.” 

Yunho’s eyes widen, a smile blossoming in the life-giving light of Mingi’s scratchy voice. 

_I hope you always find a reason to smile like this._

“You’re speaking!”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Mingi giggles, the sound low and bubbly. It hurts, but not as much as it did the first couple of times. Yunho’s awe is better than any morphine. It numbs the discomfort, that insistent itching in his throat. It makes him want to _try_ , to practice until he can’t anymore just to see the look of Yunho’s face when Mingi can finally say everything he needs to. 

“Well then, what do you wanna do?” Yunho questions, turning towards him so that his bent leg is resting against Mingi’s thigh. “We can watch a movie, or head down to the beach for a walk? It’s pretty nice tonight, we can even do a midnight picnic if you wan—”

“Want to k-kiss you.” 

Mingi feels bad for interrupting, but the shock on Yunho’s face is worth it. His mouth falls open, so velvety and pink, and his cheeks begin to bloom with color. His gaze searches Mingi’s face, darting from his eyes to his mouth and back up again, searching for _something._

If it’s a lie he’s looking for, Yunho won’t find any here. It is the truth, plain and simple.

There are so many things that they can do tonight, so many things to make the dark hours pass by. But Mingi can think of nothing else he would rather do than kiss Yunho until he can’t breathe anymore. 

“Want t—kiss you,” he tries again, words sticking together. Yunho blinks, the reality sinking in. 

Mingi’s chest fills with liquid light when that wonderful smile bursts across Yunho’s face again, eyes scrunched into the most beautiful moonlit crescents. 

“Okay, we can do that,” he whispers. His hand is already moving up, coming to cup Mingi’s cheek. His palm is warm and smooth when Mingi nuzzles against it, his lips pressing a soft kiss into the middle. 

Yunho draws him closer and closer, until Mingi is all but lying on top of him. That’s when he finally shifts forward, slotting his mouth against Mingi’s. 

Kissing Yunho is everything he remembered it to be and more. Goosebumps jump across his skin, following the slow trail of Yunho’s hands over his shoulders and down his back. His mouth becomes more adventurous, pulling away to nip gently at Mingi’s bottom lip before drawing Mingi’s tongue out with his own in a messily satisfying dance. 

The first groan slips out when Yunho grabs his ass, massaging the soft flesh with strong hands. It falls right into Yunho’s mouth, and he swallows it up greedily. 

“Fuck, Mingi,” Yunho breathes, tightening his grip. “You sound so fucking beautiful.” He presses Mingi down at the same moment he cants his hips upward, the pressure of his body against Mingi’s hardening cock pushing another moan from his throat. He can feel Yunho’s length against him through the material of his sweatpants, the long line of it rutting against Mingi’s hips and stomach. 

“We need to stop,” Yunho whines after a long moment, letting his head fall back against the couch as he pants for breath.

Mingi’s heart drops into his stomach. Had he done something wrong? Did Yunho not like it? Did Yunho not want this?

“S-sorry,” Mingi says, voice cracking halfway through the word. He pushes himself off of Yunho’s chest, moving to the opposite end of the couch as tears begin to prickle in his eyes. 

Yunho shoots up, reaching out to grasp Mingi’s hands. His face is still flushed, the apples of his cheeks a beautiful rose to match his petal-soft mouth. 

“No, don’t be sorry!” Yunho says. Mingi turns his face away, afraid of Yunho seeing the tears that threaten to fall. 

But Yunho doesn’t have to see to _know._ Yunho always knows, no matter how hard he tries to hide. He moves closer, until Mingi has nowhere else to look but his face. A single tear does fall then, a diamond drop against honey skin. Yunho kisses it away.

“Oh, love, don’t cry,” he soothes, voice dropping to a low murmur. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Mingi has a feeling that Yunho already knows, but he answers anyway.

“Y—don’t want m-me,” Mingi whimpers, another diamond falling. Saying it hurts, but not from disuse of his vocal cords. It hurts in the way that makes a prickly lump rise in the back of his throat, making it hard to swallow cold, hard truths. His chest is tight with embarrassment, and shame, and _disappointment._

Yunho has slept with everyone else. Everyone but Mingi.

And Mingi wants him so badly, so much that it hurts to be sitting this close and not be kissing him senseless.

“Oh, Mingi.” Yunho pulls him in until their bodies are a tangle of limbs that barely fit on the couch, but fit perfectly against each other. “Don’t ever think that. I do want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time.” 

The admission doesn’t feel real even though Mingi can feel the rumble of the words from where his chest is flush against Yunho’s. 

“W-why stop?” He sounds weak, defeated. Yunho tightens his embrace. 

“Because I didn’t wanna push you to do anything you didn’t want.” Yunho’s lips brush a tender kiss against his cheek. 

Considering how intuitive Yunho usually is, Mingi is nearly floored that Yunho can’t tell just how much he wants this. He wants whatever Yunho has to offer, as long it’s with him. He’ll take whatever he gives him, and he’ll take it gladly. Because it’s _Yunho._

Because Mingi knows he’s safe with him.

“I want ev-everything.” His voice is nearly gone, the words coming out mumbled and hoarse, but Yunho still hears him.

“Are you sure?” 

Mingi nods, face pressed against Yunho’s neck. 

_I’ve never been more sure of anything._

“Then I’ll give you everything.” 

Yunho holds his face with both hands when they kiss again, this one so different from the last. It’s slowed, unhurried, as if they have all the time in the world. 

_Every minute feels like an infinity with you._

Their lips only part when they clamber up the stairs, reconnecting the moment they reach the top. Yunho guides them, walking Mingi backwards to his room but never once letting go. 

It’s dim, but not so dark that when Yunho strips himself of his clothes, Mingi can see every inch of him as clearly as if he were standing under the brightest sun. He’s _flawless._

Yunho takes Mingi’s clothes off for him, staring as every inch of skin is revealed. He drops to his knees when he takes off Mingi’s pants, hot breath ghosting against his hard cock. His hand wraps around it, and it feels so much better than Mingi could have ever imagined. His sorry excuse of an imagination all those nights couldn’t hold a flame to the real thing. 

“You’re amazing, Mingi,” Yunho whispers as he kisses the sensitive head of his cock. Mingi’s body tenses, a gasp tearing itself from him.

“N-no, you are.” Another scratchy whisper, but it’s deafening in the silent room, the only other sound the slick work of Yunho’s mouth and tongue as he worships Mingi’s cock. 

His legs give out the moment Yunho pushes forward, letting the tip of him bump into the back of his throat. All the while, his fist twists itself around the base, gripping what won’t fit and making fireworks explode up the column of Mingi’s spine. 

The bed is soft against his back as Yunho holds his stuttering hips down with his free hand, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks while peering up at Mingi through teary lashes. 

“Y-Yunho, please,” Mingi whimpers. It’s no more than a quiet puff of air, the extent of what he can muster. His voice is raw, disappearing every moment. But it doesn’t matter, because Yunho just _knows._

He pulls himself off of Mingi with a lewd sound, his chin slick with his own saliva. Mingi scrambles for his shoulders, urging him to move up until Mingi is crushed beneath a hard body and plush mattress. They kiss with abandon, the slow ones long gone to make way for unbridled passion. 

Yunho moans into Mingi’s mouth, rutting his own cock against Mingi’s slick one. He’s _big_ —as long as Mingi and a smidge thicker. Yunho grips both shafts in a single fist, large hands not nearly big enough to encircle them both. They hardly care though, hips shifting in jerky motions as their cocks slide together. 

“Fill me u-up,” Mingi manages to whisper. Yunho pulls away from their kiss to look down at Mingi, eyes swimming with something. Is it lust, or love? Both? Mingi doesn’t know, but it makes his belly tremble with want and his fingers tighten on Yunho’s shoulders to draw him impossibly closer.

“Against the pillows, baby,” Yunho hums, helping Mingi move when his quivering limbs prove to be all but useless. He procures a bottle of lube and a condom from seemingly nowhere, settling himself once again between Mingi’s legs. 

His cock twitches against his stomach in anticipation, already leaking from the tip, but still Mingi wants more.

“Wait.” The word is barely audible now, but Yunho stops in his tracks, waiting for Mingi to tell him what he needs. “S-switch.”

“Switch?” Yunho questions. “What do you mean?”

His throat aches too much now, so Mingi merely pats the pillow next to him, motioning for Yunho to move up. When Yunho’s head is settled against the soft down, Mingi moves, swinging his legs over Yunho’s body and letting his knees rest by his head. 

Yunho’s hard, hot length twitches in front of him, so close that all Mingi has to do is move forward a centimeter to taste it. So that’s what he does.

Yunho tastes like skin and salt, and it isn’t entirely unpleasant. In fact, Mingi thinks that he could probably get addicted to the flavor of him. 

“O-oh,” Yunho sighs, his warm breath fluttering over Mingi’s hole as it clenches around nothing. 

It’s new, and weird if Mingi is honest. The act of stroking a hard shaft is familiar, but doing it to someone else is something new entirely. Does it feel good? Is it tight enough, or not tight enough? Is the glide too rough?

All the questions burn the tip of Mingi’s tongue, but Yunho’s moans quickly put them out, encouraging.

“Holy shit, Mingi, just like that.” Yunho’s tone is low and gravelly, groans drawn out as he presses his fingers into Mingi’s thighs. Mingi suckles his swollen head in a way he hopes replicates just how good Yunho made him feel. His hand works the rest of Yunho’s length, palm slick with his own spit to make the strokes smoother. 

Yunho’s hands slithering up to grab his ass is the only warning Mingi gets before his warm tongue prods at Mingi’s hole. His entire body jerks in surprise, eyes widening and moan escaping him as his hips automatically move to press back _harder_ , to feel _more._

Yunho whines in response, thighs tensing when Mingi mindlessly mouths at his cock, unable to do much else while Yunho ravishes him.

The sharp noise of the bottle cap opening makes Mingi shiver in anticipation even before Yunho’s cool, slippery fingers come to prod at his hole. This one doesn’t have a sickly sweet scent like the one he has hidden away in his suitcase, but Mingi thinks it’s better that way. 

All of his senses are drowning in Yunho and his magic, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The slide of Yunho’s finger inside of him is enough to make his eyes roll in pleasure, sparks flying behind his eyelids. His own fingers could never replicate this; he’s being touched in places he never imagined could be touched, and all the while, Yunho's tongue and lips leave wet kisses along his cock. 

In minutes that fly by in what feels like seconds, Yunho is fucking him with three thick fingers, Mingi’s hole stretched beyond what his own fingers could offer. His body opens up, pliant and willing, liquid in Yunho’s hands. 

“You’re being so good for me, Mingi,” Yunho murmurs, dropping kisses against his soft, full cheeks. “So good, taking my fingers so well.”

Mingi whines, breath merely brushing Yunho’s cock, his body having gone boneless the moment Yunho’s third finger slid home. “M-more.”

“What’s that baby?” 

“W-want more, please.” Tears well again, but for an entirely different reason than before. The slide of Yunho’s fingers, the way they curl against the spot that makes him lose all sense of reality, it’s all so overwhelming.

“I’ll give you anything you want.” Yunho pulls his fingers out, and Mingi immediately feels so _empty._

Yunho’s hands maneuver him until he’s lying on his back, a single pillow gently placed under his hips. He slides the condom on with no preamble, slicking it up even more with cool lube before lying flush against Mingi’s body. 

“I'll give you everything.” It’s a promise, whispered right into his skin and locked away in his heart.

Yunho lines himself up, and just feeling his thick cockhead against his winking hole is enough to warn Mingi that it’s going to be a snug fit. 

When Yunho pushes in, slow and careful, it burns, but it burns so _good._ Mingi claws at his shoulders and pulls him down, distracting himself with the familiar euphoria of Yunho’s mouth against his. 

It feels like an eternity before Yunho pulls away panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. 

“Are you okay?”

Mingi nods, the feeling of being so _full_ making his mind fuzzy, unable to formulate a coherent response. 

“Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t. It’s just strange, being filled to the brim. It isn’t unpleasant in the slightest, but every time Yunho’s hips shift, his cock moves inside Mingi, sending a wave of _something_ up his spine. 

This is what Mingi has been waiting for, and the wait has been worth it. He and Yunho are one, joined together as closely as two people can be. 

His fantasies were nothing compared to this. No number of his own fingers could ever replicate the sheer ecstasy of being held so gently while being filled so completely. 

The tears that had been welling finally spill over. The diamond droplets from before become a crystal cascade, trailing shimmery trails down ruby cheeks.

“Mingi, baby, do you want me to pull out? Does it hurt that much?” Yunho looks so concerned, and it makes the tears fall faster.

He shakes his head, vehement. 

“Stay.” The word makes no noise, but Yunho reads his lips, expression softening as he leans down to nuzzle his wet cheek with his nose.

“Okay, I’ll stay. As long as you need.” 

Mingi grapples his shoulder, pulling Yunho down against him until he can’t tell who’s heartbeat is who’s.

When he’s ready, he wiggles his hips, and Yunho gets the meaning immediately. His strokes are slow at first, the drag of his cock against Mingi’s walls drawn out and teasing. Yunho speeds up when Mingi begins to cant his hips up, meeting his thrusts halfway. 

He angles Mingi’s hips, folding his legs at the knees and using it as leverage to fuck down into him. He hits that special spot head-on, and Mingi loses all grip on himself, clutching the sheets and Yunho’s arms, trying to ground himself. 

The first time they’d kissed, they were standing in the middle of a rainstorm. Now, being fucked by Yunho in dim moonlight, Mingi feels as though he might as well be in the middle of a tsunami. 

It’s too much at once, but at the same time he feels like he can never get enough. All he can think, hear, and breathe is Yunho, deep moans floating over Mingi’s face only to be sucked into his lungs in heaving gasps. 

“ _Shit_ , you’re so tight, Mingi. Feels so good,” Yunho keens, leaning down to scatter kisses along Mingi’s chest before finding his lips. “I’m going to—fuck—I’m going to cum.”

Yunho’s hand releases one of his knees, sliding in between his legs to grip Mingi’s leaking cock. The copious precum makes it so easy, Yunho’s hand gliding over him in time with his thrusts. 

Mingi’s back arches, body jerking as it battles between pressing himself harder onto Yunho’s cock or thrusting up into his fist. He doesn’t have time to choose, though, every muscle in his body tensing as his orgasm blindsides him, sending spurt after spurt of silvery-white cum over Yunho’s fingers and onto his chest. 

“ _Fuck_ , Mingi,” Yunho mewls, collapsing on top of him and whining lowly by his ear as he cums inside him, Mingi’s body milking Yunho’s cock in an endless spasm of muscles. 

He can feel it, every twitch and jerk of Yunho’s length as he spills himself into the condom, and Mingi wishes so much that they’d foregone the condom so Yunho could paint his walls white, leaving behind a reminder that he’d been the one to wreck Mingi, and in turn, Mingi had wrecked him. 

Yunho doesn’t move for a long moment, still thrusting shallowly into Mingi as though he doesn’t want to leave the heady warmth of him quite yet. Mingi doesn’t want him to leave either, no matter how uncomfortable the drying cum on his chest feels. 

This moment, this little pocket of forever in an ever-changing universe is the most perfect moment in Mingi’s life. And he’ll hold onto his forever as long as Yunho will let him. 

☼

> _Today I lost my virginity to Yunho, and it was more than I ever thought it would be._
> 
> _He was so gentle when he cleaned me up and helped me into bed. We cuddled after, and he kissed me until I fell asleep._
> 
> _I think I would kiss him forever if it were possible._
> 
> _I’m glad that my first time was with him, and that Yeosang’s first time was with him._
> 
> _Yunho feels so safe._
> 
> _I hope he feels safe with us, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> See you next chapter!
> 
> socials!  
> athena: [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)  
> shan: [twitter](https://twitter.com/useumssi) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/useumssiiii)


	9. Pink Verity and Purple Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yunho is panting by the time he registers what’s happening. He’s sweating, knees and thighs aching. There’s pressure on the tip of his right index finger, like layers and layers of tape are wrapped around it. Tears stain his cheeks, above and below his mask. His entire body, every hair, every pore, is alight. San is still standing there, his cans set down by his feet.
> 
> He sits down, crossing his legs. Yunho does the same, five feet away. San lowers his mask. Yunho does the same.
> 
> “You were keeping all of that inside you,” San says.
> 
> Yunho glances over at the orange beside his thigh. “I’ve always been alone, San,” he says hoarsely. His throat has run dry, as if he’d been screaming at the top of his lungs. But when he looks at the contrast of the hot pink against the dark asphalt, he thinks that perhaps it’s not that far from the truth.
> 
> “But you aren’t anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! We hope you all had fantastic holidays and wish you a very Happy New Year!!!  
> As some of you may already know if you follow our Twitters, Athena and I will be taking a short hiatus from posting while we finish off the few remaining chapters. Thank you all for your continued support on this project, it has really meant so much to us that so many people have enjoyed it and found comfort in this fic ❤️  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter as well, and we'll see you all very soon!
> 
> Warning for some sad boy Yunho, sad boy San, property damage and graffiti, and of course, some spicy and soft smut ✨

While San is in the shower one evening, Yunho’s phone rings.

At first, Yunho is excited, expecting it to be Wooyoung or Yeosang calling to ask if they could come over, but instead, he’s greeted by the dreaded contact name ‘Mother.’

He chomps down on his bottom lip as he presses the green button and raises the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Yunho! How are you, sweetheart?” comes his mother’s chirpy voice from the speaker.

“I’m good.”

And he is, or at least _was_. Before she called.

“Oh, that’s good! How’s the house? Haven’t burned anything down yet?”

“No.”

“Okay, good, that’s what matters!” She lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh, one that Yunho has heard a handful of times whenever she was around her colleagues at social gatherings, champagne in her system, charisma cranked up to ten. It makes him wonder if she’s at one right now.

He wants to tell her that no, the house being intact is not _all_ that matters, but she probably couldn’t care less.

She probably couldn’t care less about the friends he’s made, either. To her knowledge, he has plenty, but it just goes to show how much she knows about him.

“So! Unfortunately, we won’t be able to come back for the rest of summer, but we might see you in the fall! Or maybe Christmas! Oh, speaking of which, what do you want for Christmas this year?” Her voice is starting to give him a headache.

“I’m fine, mom,” he says, attempting to hide the exasperation in his voice. He told her that last year, and they still got him that 2019 Honda Civic. They hadn’t shown up last Christmas, so he assumes it was a pity gift.

He wouldn’t be surprised if this year is no different. Maybe they’d get him a whole new fucking house.

“If you say so, sweetie!” Another heartless laugh. Yunho swears he can hear commotion in the background. Glasses clinking, muffled music, indistinct chatter. All the signs of a social gathering that his parents have to get the least bit tipsy to enjoy even remotely. “Do you need anything? More funds? Food? We can send the cleaning lady if you need—”

“I’m _fine_ , mom,” Yunho repeats, his agitation just barely poking through. He reels it back in before he explodes, but she doesn’t notice. She just titters again. Does she not know he works? That he’s making his _own_ money, cleaning his _own_ house, doing _everything_ on his own because that’s what he was left to do?

 _You were the ones who left me here_ , he thinks spitefully.

_It’s only natural I’d do everything on my own._

“Oh, okay! Well, just call us if you need anything, okay? Love you!”

“Love you too,” Yunho mutters through clenched teeth, but the ‘you’ gets cut off by the dial tone, and he rolls his eyes and chucks his phone back onto his bed.

He never calls them because he _doesn’t_ need anything, and whether he calls or not, it doesn’t make a difference. He may as well be invisible to them, a mere trophy upon their wall of endless accomplishments. _“Look at our son, isn’t he perfect?”_ screams the gilded plaque, and the onlookers gaze in amazement at the little boy, top of his class, sports team captain, student council member, an ace at everything he does. Everything a parents’ dream child would be.

 _Perfect._ He hates it. He hates thinking about the word. He hates its implications, the expectations and pressures that come with having to do everything to the best standard. And being left alone because he can handle it, he can handle himself because he’s _perfect_ , because he can’t do anything wrong. How hypocritical, he thinks.

Alone. How could someone so _perfect_ be so _alone_?

He isn’t perfect, and he hates when anybody implies that he is.

He looks at himself in the vanity mirror and wishes it would shatter. The image that he has, a sunkissed lifeguard who has lots of money and ravishing good looks, it draws people in, sure. But do they stay? Are they interested in anything beneath Yunho’s skin, beneath his house and riches? Do they care about what he has to say, the things he thinks and believes?

If he lived modestly, in a cottage instead of a mansion, with just a lifeguard job as his income and middle class parents with no notorious name, would those same people still give him the time of day?

He knows the answer is no.

“Hey.”

San’s voice cuts the thoughts, as it often does. Yunho stares at him through the mirror. “You don’t look happy,” San observes. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants, watching Yunho through the mirror as well. “Did something happen?”

Yunho looks back at himself and thinks that he doesn’t look happy either. A rare sight. But then again, he doesn’t spend a lot of time looking in the mirror.

He hates what he sees, after all.

He hates seeing the “perfection” and “happiness” that never was and never will be.

“Hey, San,” Yunho says, “you’ve dabbled in graffiti, right?”

San raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, why?”

“Let’s go out and vandalize something.”

Before San can give him a coherent response, Yunho is yanking open his drawers and throwing on a random t-shirt and sweatpants and mismatched socks. Blood thrums in his ears, his rage simmering low in his body as he keeps it subdued. He can’t explode. Not now, not in front of San. Not in front of somebody who has seen past the imperfection. Somebody who could _leave_ him.

San follows him into the car. The night is colder than most, but Yunho’s anger fuels the warmth of his skin. “Yunho, I don’t have any spray paint.”

“So we’ll get some.”

They drive in silence. Yunho buys an entire rainbow, ten cans to be exact, and ignores the suspicious look he gets from the cashier as he’s paying. When they get back to the car, San lets out a sigh and fishes out two face masks and a package of gloves from his pockets.

“Where’d you get those?”

“I’ve done plenty of illegal shit, Yunho.” San smirks, a familiar devious glint in his eyes. “Shoplifting is most certainly one of them.”

Yunho’s laughter starts off soft. He’s pulling out of the parking lot as it grows in volume, and as he speeds down the barren, grass-littered roads, away from the beach town and towards the middle of nowhere. He rolls down the window, and his maniacal laughter gets carried off into the wind.

“Yunho, what’s gotten into you?” San asks.

“I’m so fucking done, San,” he says. “I’m so fucking done being perfect.”

He takes San to a long-abandoned parking lot, one he’d discovered several months ago on a drive to nowhere, to clear his head. Desolate, lonely, _a lot like him._ Except this time, he’s not alone.

San is silent as they step out into the night, a duffel bag full of spray paint at their disposal. He slips the mask over his mouth and nose, and Yunho does the same. “Have you ever spray painted anything before?” San asks, pulling out two cans, neon blue and yellow.

“Nope.”

“You picked a good place to do it. I don’t see many graffitied parking lots.” San lets out a chuckle.

“I come out here when I need to clear my head,” Yunho says.

“It’s a nice place.”

Once the gloves are on and the cans are shaken and equipped, San turns to Yunho with questioning eyes. “So,” he says, “what story do you want to tell?”

Yunho looks down at the pavement. Illuminated by a single distant streetlamp, the parking lot is nothing short of pathetic.

_A lot like me._

_Tell me your story,_ says the look in San’s eyes.

So he does.

He tells San the story of a little boy who grew up surrounded by prosperity and privilege. A boy given all the freedom and reign in the world. Everything he could ever want was in the palm of his hand. If he asked, he would receive. People looked at him like he held the moon and stars because he very well could have. They would smile and he would smile back. A mask he had perfected.

Strung along, he followed in his parents footsteps. Successful. So much promise. Ambition. _Perfection._ They gave him everything.

And they gave him nothing.

Everything and nothing. That was the boy summed up.

Perfect. And because he was perfect, he was left alone. Because he had everything. He didn’t need anything else.

In the biggest, brightest, boldest letters, over a row of twelve parking spaces, Yunho paints **_FUCK PERFECTION_ ** in pink.

In red, he draws broken hearts. In green, he draws dollar bills. In blue, he draws the ocean waves he’s conquered.

In orange, he writes _I am not perfect._

San does nothing but watch as the story is painted in front of him, unfurling, torn at the edges, bold and bright and loud.

“Yunho.”

Yunho is panting by the time he registers what’s happening. He’s sweating, knees and thighs aching. There’s pressure on the tip of his right index finger, like layers and layers of tape are wrapped around it. Tears stain his cheeks, above and below his mask. His entire body, every hair, every pore, is alight. San is still standing there, his cans set down by his feet.

He sits down, crossing his legs. Yunho does the same, five feet away. San lowers his mask. Yunho does the same.

“You were keeping all of that inside you,” San says.

Yunho glances over at the orange beside his thigh. “I’ve always been alone, San,” he says hoarsely. His throat has run dry, as if he’d been screaming at the top of his lungs. But when he looks at the contrast of the hot pink against the dark asphalt, he thinks that perhaps it’s not that far from the truth.

“But you aren’t anymore.”

Yunho looks at him.

_Maybe I’m not alone now, but I will be once you inevitably leave._

He gulps the words down and they feel like rugged rocks scraping the delicate lining of his throat.

So instead, he nods and gazes upon his _own_ plaque, one that screams, _“Look at Yunho, he isn’t perfect!”_ because he _isn’t_ , and he wants nothing more than to be seen that way.

Because what does perfection matter when there is nobody to see what’s beneath it?

☼

“I’m not perfect, San. Never was, never will be. You know that phrase, ‘nobody’s perfect?’ Yeah. That’s so fucking true. Nobody’s fucking perfect.”

San looks over at him, eyebrows creased. Yunho can see the frustration streaked across his face.

“Don’t even try to tell me I’m perfect,” Yunho adds.

“I wasn’t going to,” San says.

“You said it once already, you know. A while back.”

“Yeah, I know. But I still stand by it.”

Yunho shoots him a look.

“I stand by it because you are the perfection that I never knew. The one thing that makes me feel like things aren’t bad, that I’m not alone, that everything my life was before I met you doesn’t matter. _That_ is perfection to me, Yunho. The light that cuts up the dark. You’re perfect not because you have money or a nice body or anything superficial like that. I couldn’t care less about that shit.”

Yunho blinks at him, confused, but can’t bring himself to be mad anymore.

San is looking at him like he is the only oasis in the middle of a scorching desert, face set in solemn stone. He means every word.

“You’re perfect because you understand. That’s all we could ever ask for.”

San looks away, as does Yunho. The two stare at the bluish fluorescence shining from the convenience store window, and Yunho thinks it’s hauntingly beautiful.

He is utterly perplexed by the paradox San has given him, but even though the words are confusing to him, they make all the sense to San.

So who is he to say they don’t make sense at all?

☼

San smiles when his phone screen lights up, Yeosang’s name flashing across it in blinding white. Since that day off sour syrup and chilly treats, he and Yeosang have been texting more; with every message, one more layer is peeled away, another brick chipped until it’s nothing but dust.

They message about the trivial, and in the night, when the monsters come crawling up from their inky black depths, they talk about the fear and pain.

It’s the fear of this summer coming to an end, and when they go home, it will be as if nothing has changed. As if everything was a fever dream, and that the beauty of it all was a mirage manifested from tricky sunbeams and frothy waves.

Yeosang’s apprehension is valid. The world never seemed so bright and full of color until Wooyoung walked into his life. His reality never felt so loud until he realized the one thing he truly wanted to hear was Mingi’s wonderful laugh. San never felt so thoroughly _seen_ until Yunho had looked at him, looking past all the tattoos and piercings straight into the watery eyes of a boy who was too afraid to be the man he wanted to be. And with Yeosang… San feels a kinship, a pure connection to the boy who had suffered just as much as he did, but instead of black ink, his skin bore the jagged drag of a razor.

So San gets it when Yeosang asks him _‘are you afraid?’_

Because his answer, without fail, is _‘always.’_

☼

San isn’t surprised when Yeosang takes him to a place they’ve yet to explore as a group. He’s been coming here for nearly a decade now, left to his own devices by his parents, so it isn’t all that odd that he’s discovered many of the town’s hidden wonders.

“Local-adjacent” is what Yunho had called him, and San very much liked that description.

It took a long walk on a beaten-down path to get here, nearly an hour of traveling in near silence. Yeosang has his notebook and little tin, this time tucked away in a backpack carrying god-knows-what. His text that morning had been merely an invite on a walk; no other explanation was offered, and San didn’t ask. Not because he didn’t care, but because it didn’t matter where they went, as long as they were together.

He didn’t ask why Yeosang hadn’t invited the others in the group chat either. They’re amazing, each and every one of them, but sometimes just one person is enough. And Yeosang chose San. 

The place Yeosang brings him to is blessedly at sea level and doesn’t involve standing at the edge of monstrous cliffs. The thinking place has become so familiar to San that sometimes he forgets that he’s actually standing well over fifty feet in the air, and peering over the edge sends a jolt through his body every single time. 

Here, it’s different. Quiet and vast, the ocean floor at low tide is littered with slippery rocks and clumps of seaweed that lay abandoned. Shells glitter where they lay unearthed, brought to the surface as the moon coaxed away the waters that blanketed them. Boulders are scattered throughout the soaking desert, still glistening with a salty sheen. 

“I found this place before I found the thinking place,” Yeosang says. His voice is so quiet San almost doesn’t hear him. San looks over, studying his profile. Yeosang’s bare face glitters nearly as brilliantly as those shells, little stars buried among rocks and sand. His eyes rove the familiar terrain, smiling when his gaze catches on something, leading San with a gentle tug on his hand. 

It takes a moment to clamber down to the ocean floor, standing on rocks and jumping over tidepools housing critters that wait patiently for high tide to come whisk them away. 

Yeosang points to a shelf of rock not far off, and San nods, following his practiced footsteps across the sea floor. 

Cliffs loom ahead, and whenever San looks up, it feels as though they might come crashing down any moment. So San just stares at Yeosang. His long blonde hair, gilded where sunbeams touch it. His bare arms, outstretched at either side to help keep his balance. His practiced gait as he steps from rock to rock.

Yeosang helps him scale the rock face, the short climb nearly making him dizzy when he makes the mistake of looking down. 

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks, settling himself and crossing his legs. The surface is still damp, but he doesn’t seem to mind much. 

“I’m fine,” San assures him, sitting close enough that he can feel the heat of Yeosang’s arm against his own. As long as he knows Yeosang is close, the cliffs stay right where they’re supposed to, immovable and sturdy. 

Yeosang sighs, a world-heavy breath rushing from his mouth. 

“I haven’t been here in a while. I forgot how beautiful it is.”

San is inclined to agree. From here, the expanse of land stretches out beyond what he can see, the ocean a mere glint on the horizon. The stretch of ocean floor glimmers, speaking of buried treasure once hidden but now revealed. But San isn’t interested in digging up pieces of sea glass or rainbow colored shells or a treasure chest full of gold coins. 

The treasure he wants is sitting beside him, half-buried but slowly being revealed with each tug of an unexplainable cosmic force. Instead of the moon playing with the tides, it’s Yunho, and Wooyoung, and Mingi coaxing him from swirling depths. 

And this treasure, San thinks, is priceless. There’s nothing hidden in the ocean floor that could ever dream to rival him. 

“It is beautiful,” San says, smiling when Yeosang looks over and sees his eyes locked solely on him.

“The view, idiot.” Yeosang swats half-heartedly at his shoulder, blushing furiously.

“Oh trust me, I am very much enjoying the view,” San insists playfully, to which Yeosang scoffs but digresses, opting to open his backpack and pull out his sketchbook. 

“I liked coming here before because it was really quiet,” Yeosang starts after a moment of toying with the hard black cover of his book. San waits for him to continue. “Hardly anyone comes here, so it’s a good place to be alone and draw and just exist, I guess.” 

San hums, but still doesn’t say anything. 

“When I thought about coming back to this place, I almost didn’t want to. The silence was nice, but after I met the four of you, silence became so… loud. I was afraid that if I came back here, I would realize all of it had been fake. That I had dreamt this whole summer up. That my life was still this silent no matter how badly I didn’t want it to be.” 

San nods even though Yeosang isn’t looking. He understands now, why Yeosang just invited him. San of all people knows how the quiet can be ear-splitting. To others, silence may offer peace, a break from it all. But to them… silence is only a reminder of their reality. Their suffering was done in silence, their cries wept into an empty room with shadows and dust for companions. 

At least now, with San at his side, Yeosang can remind himself that he’s not alone. Not anymore. That he doesn’t have to weep into his own palms, but rather onto the shoulder of someone who understands the heavy burden of silence.

 _Thank you for choosing me._

“Sometimes I think this summer was a dream too,” San admits, drawing his knees up and resting his chin against them. “It hardly seems real, us meeting those guys. When I met Wooyoung that first night, I was sure I was suffering from heat stroke.”

Yeosang snorts. “He does tend to have that effect on people.”

“You feel the same about him, huh?” It isn’t an accusation. San has seen the way Yeosang looks at Wooyoung; he noticed it that very first night at the bonfire. That tenderness in his gaze, a pure adoration that could never be feigned… San had felt it too.

Yeosang looks surprised at first, mouth opening and shaping a denial. It takes one look from San for him to give up, the tension releasing from his shoulders in an instant as he sighs.

“Yeah. I couldn’t help it,” Yeosang chuckles, fond. “From the moment I saw him, I just knew a piece of my heart belonged to him.” 

San smiles, the memory of Wooyoung’s star-speckled grin and crescent moon eyes flooding his chest with warmth. He hopes Yeosang gets that same feeling when he thinks about Wooyoung. 

“Why haven’t you told him that?” San asks, although he already knows the answer.

“I was… afraid. He has you, Mingi, and Yunho. Why in the world would he want me?” 

Yeosang’s voice tapers off into a whisper, eaten away by longing. 

San watches as Yeosang begins to shrink in on himself, more and more resembling the boy he’d met all those weeks ago rather than the man he’d become. He doesn’t think twice before leaning over Yeosang, pulling him against his chest and pressing his lips against his temple. It’s the first time they’ve been _this_ close since the club, but it’s entirely different. Instead of the scent of sweat and sweet alcohol permeating the air, San can smell the tang of the sea and Yeosang’s addictive rose-scented skin. Here, Yeosang doesn’t gasp and writhe in his grip, but rather, he leans into it, as though all he needs is San to ground him to the earth. 

“You are _wonderful,_ Yeosang. You are kind, and beautiful, and smart, and so talented. You are strong—more than most people, if I’m being honest. And most importantly, you love him the way he is, just like the rest of us. _That’s_ why he wants you.” 

San presses another kiss to his temple, the pulse of a vein quickening beneath the soft skin of his lips. Yeosang grasps San’s forearm where it lies across his chest, tracing the black lines of ink with his finger. 

“You said ‘wants’. As if Wooyoung does want me,” he whispers, breath ghosting across San’s flesh. 

“He does want you, Yeosang. He _has_ wanted you, for nearly as long as you’ve wanted him. That little hookup in the club—”

“God, I forgot you knew about that.”

San laughs. “Well, you weren’t exactly being subtle. But rest assured, it wasn’t the alcohol.”

“Are you sure?” Somehow, Yeosang becomes even smaller, bowing his head until every puff of breath from his nose lands on San’s skin before disappearing into the cool breeze. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” San says, earnest. “But I think you should talk to him. Hearing it from me is one thing, but hearing it from him… it’s like every piece of every puzzle just falls in place.”

Yeosang makes a noise of protest, lifting his head and turning to look up at San’s face. He’s so _close,_ rosy lips mere centimeters from his. All San has to do is lean—

“But I can’t!” Yeosang all but wails, throwing his hands up weakly. “Whenever I look at him, my mind goes all fuzzy and I can’t concentrate! And when he talks— _god_ —all I can do is stare at his lips and remember how good they felt, how _heavenly_ it was.”

San throws his head back, laughing when Yeosang whines low and beats his chest gently with a weak fist. 

“Like you said, he _does_ have that effect on people.”

“You all do,” Yeosang grumbles. San isn’t sure if he was meant to hear it.

His chuckles die down as he continues to watch Yeosang trace his tattoo, the tip of his finger lingering on the petals of his skin-colored rose as delicately as if it were real.

“Have you ever thought about getting one? A tattoo, I mean,” San asks, goosebumps rising on his flesh with every brush of Yeosang’s finger.

Yeosang hums. “I’ve thought about it, but I never really explored the idea. Couldn’t really think of anything important enough to get permanently inked into my skin, you know?”

San shivers when his finger drags down the length of the arrow, sliding from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. He can only nod, words lost to him under Yeosang’s touch. 

“Have you ever thought about getting your ones colored in?”

“Nah, I’m more of a black and white kind of guy.”

“That’s a shame.”

“That I don’t have my tattoos colored in?”

“Mhm. Your skin makes such a lovely canvas.”

Yeosang looks up again, and this time it’s _his_ eyes that dart to San’s lips. His cheeks heat up as they just look at each other, speaking volumes into the silence with nothing but slow breaths and racing hearts.

“I could be partial to color,” San whispers. “Got any suggestions?”

Yeosang blinks, startled. “Really?”

San nods, and Yeosang reaches for his backpack, pulling out a tin. When he opens it, San is surprised to see markers rolling around where pencils used to be. Bright, bold, vivid. All things Yeosang could be, given the chance.

Yeosang selects a deep purple, uncapping it and tracing dainty petals with careful strokes. San merely watches, allowing Yeosang to fill him with color. 

He gets to the thorns, switching his royal purple for a lavender that reminds San of springtime. Yeosang carefully draws droplets dripping from the thorns, shading the ink so it looks as though the tattoo is climbing out of his skin and drawing blood as it slithers its way free.

“So I see you’re a fan of purple,” San says, smiling.

“I’m not, if I’m being honest,” Yeosang answers, never once stopping the marker’s journey across his skin. “But to me, you are purple.”

“I… am purple?” San repeats, curious.

“You are. So many shades of it. Dark purple on the surface, strong, royal, and powerful,” Yeosang touches the plumy petals before letting his finger travel to the droplets of blood he’d sketched onto San’s skin. “But you bleed lavender and lilac. Your veins are full of soft pastels and bright tones. Smooth, kind, comfortable colors. Colors that make you feel safe, at peace.”

Yeosang doesn’t notice San mouth drop open in muted shock, or the violet tears gathering in his eyes. He merely continues to color, sweeping every shade of purple imaginable into San’s veins with each stroke of soft felt over his skin.

“What about the others?” San hopes his voice doesn’t shake. Yeosang only moves to switch lavender for mauve.

“Mingi is blue, like the ocean. Or the sky. So vast and unexplored, but we still look at them with awe because we can hardly believe something so wonderful exists. And to me, Yunho is pink. The color of love. It’s so soft and simple, but it evokes a sense of calm, I think. It almost feels like home.”

Mauve is traded for black as Yeosang traces his art, etching it into San’s skin forevermore.

“And Wooyoung… Wooyoung is red. Lust, heat, infatuation. But most of all... passion. A color that invokes more than you bargained for when you first laid eyes on a boy with dark hair and the brightest smile. It engulfs you so completely it feels as though you can’t breathe… but that’s okay, because he’s all the air you need.”

Yeosang finishes his artwork with a cheeky signature, his initials scribbled in barely-there script along a creeping vine of thorns. 

He looks up in time to see a perfect drop of amethyst fall from San’s eye, trailing down his cheek and falling onto his forearm, already smudging Yeosang’s work. But Yeosang doesn’t care. Not in the slightest.

Instead he lets go of San’s arm to cup his face, brushing away each tear as it falls. 

“Did—did I say something? Did I hurt you? Was I holding your arm too hard? I—I’m so sorry, San, I didn’t mean—”

San can’t stop himself this time, can’t resist from the pull of Yeosang’s lips to his. Yeosang’s apologies are lost when San surges forward, his own arm—now swirling with a million shades of purple—wrapping around Yeosang and holding him so close, San hopes he stains Yeosang’s lips that same lovely lilac he claims runs in his veins. 

Yeosang responds beautifully, freezing for only a moment before relaxing in his hold and kissing him back as though _San_ is the air, and he’s been long starved of a proper breath. He whimpers when San tightens his grip, twisting his fingers into his silken hair. 

It’s San who has to pull away first, resting his forehead against Yeosang’s. 

“You could do so many things to me, Yeosang. But never for a second could you hurt me.” He whispers the words right against Yeosang’s lips, punctuated with a kiss. 

“But you were crying,” Yeosang pants, still gripping the back of San’s neck for dear life. 

“Happy tears, Yeosang. Trust me, I didn’t believe those existed either until about two minutes ago.” San kisses him again, this time deep and slow. His tongue twists with Yeosang’s, revelling in the sweet taste of him. Yeosang kisses him back in earnest, matching his every movement, reading his mind.

Two bodies, connected by more than just the physical. San feels like Yeosang has colored his soul and etched that silly little signature right in the corner, a permanent reminder. 

“You’re happy?” Yeosang asks when he pulls away.

“So happy,” San says, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. 

“Because of me?” 

“Because of you, Yeosang.”

“But… why?”

There are so many things San wants to say. He’s happy because Yeosang _sees_ him. He’s happy because Yeosang sees them all. He’s happy that Yeosang is in a good place, and those scars are old and faded, and that there aren’t any fresh ones marring his skin. He’s happy that he found a kindred spirit in Yeosang, someone who _understands_ without needing to hear the words. He’s happy that Yeosang is standing taller and not making himself tiny in a world that’s so big and has so much to offer him.

San is happy, and there are too many reasons why. So he puts it plainly, simply. 

“I’m happy that you exist.”

☼

It’s been too long since they’ve gone out like this, just the two of them. Wooyoung can’t help but feel a bit guilty considering this vacation was meant for them… but then again, they hadn’t accounted for meeting three others with whom they would want to spend the rest of their time left. Still, even though they still sleep in the same house, Wooyoung feels almost relieved when they have some spare time on their hands while Yunho is working, so they occupy themselves by going out on the town, Mingi’s sandals loud and thunderous against the pavement, neon sunglasses perched high.

Their first destination is a shaved ice place that Yeosang had sworn by, saying that they serve up the most sugary, syrupy frozen water in town, and by _god_ , he was right. A rainbow of ice, every color imaginable, lined up in a chilled display case. The coloring from the blue raspberry embeds itself into Wooyoung’s tongue for the next five hours, and Mingi had the intuition to go for lemon, which was transparently flavored, leaving his tongue spotless, a healthy pink like any other tongue.

While Wooyoung bears his blue tongue, the two wander around the little boulevards of trinket shops and souvenir stands. Mingi buys two more pairs of neon sunglasses, orange and purple. According to him, all he needs is red to complete the rainbow collection he and Yunho are amassing, but the particular stand they visit doesn’t have it. Wooyoung would be lying if he said he remembered that that was a thing in the first place.

The time that isn’t spent eating or shopping ticks away on the beaches as they explore the shores further away from town, a more rocky variety that most people steer away from. Tiny cliffs and mountains where land meets the sea, only the brave ones who wouldn’t mind a little bumpy terrain would dare traverse it. It’s a good leg workout, Wooyoung realizes, as they step over slippery rocks on all fours, lest they fall and split their skin open.

While they’re there, however, Mingi finds multiple shards of seaglass that he tucks away in Wooyoung’s backpack without him looking. Wooyoung finds them later, while they’re on their way back to civilization.

An iridescence of blues and greens, even some purples, shining in the palm of his hand. For many reasons, it reminds him of Mingi.

Their last destination is an unfamiliar trail, one that Mingi is enthusiastic to travel down. Having been preoccupied with other things for the entire summer, Wooyoung had almost forgotten what this trail leads to, as he’s the only one who hasn’t wandered down it.

The trek is exhausting, but it’s worth it in the end as the grand masterpiece of the sunset spills over the horizon, drowning the sky in oranges and pinks and violets that hover above the vast expanse of the sparkling sea.

“Oh my…” The words escape Wooyoung in a breath that feels like it’s been punched out of him.

“We… m-met… Y-Yeos-sang. Here.”

Wooyoung turns to Mingi, eyes wide. Mingi swallows, opting for fishing his phone from his pocket.

_‘The view is beautiful, isn’t it?’_

Wooyoung reads his best friend’s words and smiles up at him. He nods.

 _Beautiful, indeed,_ he thinks.

_A beautiful sight for beautiful people._

_Where the land and sea and sky come together to create a marvelous spectacle that leaves everything staring in wonder._

_On their own, they are amazing._

_Together, they are incredible._

_Unstoppable. Brilliant. Invincible._

_And I can take on the world with you._

Wooyoung looks up at Mingi, his best friend, his sea glass, his neon light. The gold from the sun reflects off his skin, a pure radiance that Wooyoung knows he will never see with anybody else, because it is _Mingi_ , the boy who reminds him that bravery does not warrant words, the one who sees him through and through, and the only one who sits at the center of his world.

The one he will always come home to, together or apart.

Wooyoung rests his head on Mingi’s shoulder. It fits like a key to its lock. He takes Mingi’s hand in his, long fingers intertwining with his stubby ones, yet they somehow fit perfectly, like they were made for each other.

They gaze out at the invincible sunset as Wooyoung’s thoughts float above their heads, and Wooyoung is certain that Mingi _knows._

Mingi doesn’t have to speak for Wooyoung to understand him. It’s only natural it goes both ways.

☼

When the darkest nights combined with thunderstorms and relentless wind would ravage the house, Wooyoung would hold Mingi’s quivering form even when Mingi grew taller than him. Sometimes, Mingi would shake so violently that Wooyoung had to use the majority of his strength to quell the tremors. Sometimes, Wooyoung wouldn’t sleep at all as he waited for Mingi to sleep, the adrenaline and terror of seeing his best friend so afraid leaving him restless. Even then, Wooyoung could only imagine what it was like for Mingi.

There are times where Wooyoung likes to remember the times before the accident flipped Mingi’s life upside down, when Mingi would spend hours rambling about nothing, incessant and annoying to past Wooyoung, but present Wooyoung finds those distant memories to be treasures now, ones that he will cherish for the rest of his time. When infinite words fell from Mingi’s mouth like a magnificent waterfall, when the boy was small in size but not in character, unafraid of the world.

But the Mingi in front of him is still Mingi, still his best friend, still the one he would go through hellfire for.

Plagued by nightmares that wrack his mind and body, Mingi is still Mingi through and through. Nothing will change that.

Wooyoung tucks a few loose strands of hair behind Mingi’s ear. The moonlight peers through the curtains, leaving an angelic streak of silver across Mingi’s face.

_You are so beautiful._

Mingi smiles at his unspoken words.

“You know that I love you, right?” Wooyoung murmurs, hand cupping Mingi’s soft cheek. Mingi nods.

“I l-love you too.”

Hearing Mingi say it out loud is like hearing the world’s most mellifluous symphony. Instead of words scribbled across a page or typed out on a phone, they’re loud and open for the entire world to hear.

The world’s most beautiful song.

Wooyoung could listen to it all day.

“And you know that I’m proud of you,” Wooyoung says.

Mingi nods. “Every day.” Wooyoung chuckles, running his thumb along the crease of Mingi’s cheekbones. “You know it.”

“I’m… proud of you t-too.” Mingi’s voice is hoarse still, worn from being subdued for so long, but it’s _there_. His voice, his words, they’re there, carried by the air and into Wooyoung’s elated ears. “You are so br-brave, W-Wooyoung.”

A tiny gasp escapes Wooyoung’s lips.

“You’re braver than anyone I know, Mingi,” he whispers, a familiar feeling tickling the back of his throat.

Mingi smiles, blinking slowly.

And then, those luscious lips are being pressed against Wooyoung’s, chaste and harmless, but it ignites a spark of infinite magnitudes in Wooyoung’s body. It feels so _right_ kissing Mingi, like two puzzle pieces snug together. Mingi squeezes his waist, fingers slipping under the thin fabric of his t-shirt, sighing into the world’s most perfect kiss. All the while, Wooyoung’s hand slides from Mingi’s cheek to behind his neck, pulling him closer.

Kissing somebody has never felt so _right._

Wooyoung’s arms wrap around the back of Mingi’s neck, holding him closer than ever before, and he thinks, _this is where I am meant to be._

Mingi sure is _brave_ , being the first to touch Wooyoung in the more… unexplored areas, at least between the two alone. His curious hands disappear beneath the waistband of Wooyoung’s pajama pants, kneading his ass through his underwear. Before he moves any further, however, he pulls away almost hastily, eyes wide.

“I s-slept with Yunho,” he admits in a hurried whisper.

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow before chuckling. “Okay, good to know. So did I, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Y-yeah. Just… thought you sh-should know.”

“Okay, thank you for letting me know. Now keep kissing me, you idiot.”

Mingi is still smiling when he does.

And that’s the beauty of being with Mingi. How _natural_ everything feels, how the silliest, most awkward things are simply swept under a rug to be revisited once the mood calls for it. They’ve known each other for so long, been through hell and back with each other, that _nothing_ Mingi could say (or not say) would ever take Wooyoung away from him, and vice versa. Being with Mingi like this feels like it’s been a long time coming, Wooyoung thinks, and he wonders how it hasn’t happened sooner. But it’s happening now, under dazzling moonlight as the tide licks at the sand, as the docile ocean breeze rustles palm trees, as Wooyoung’s love for Mingi grows and grows.

Surely enough, Mingi’s experience with Yunho must have sparked something in the previously silent boy, as he is the first to dive in, grabbing ahold of Wooyoung’s growing cock, forgoing the underwear and pressing his palm against the bare member. Wooyoung’s head spins as he fumbles to do the same. It’s strange how much he struggles, considering he’s been with San enough times to know how to maneuver his hands, but it’s something about Mingi that makes his heart pound and every ounce of control drop from his body.

He wants to make Mingi feel _good_. He wants to give him _everything._

 _I love you,_ he thinks in a continuous loop as the seconds and minutes pass. They strip each other of the layers that separate them, bodies closer together than ever before. 

One “I love you” slips out of Wooyoung’s mouth during the cycle of thoughts, a quiet gasp onto Mingi’s tongue as pleasure churns inside of him. He’s close already, just from Mingi’s hand.

And another “I love you,” stutter-free and pieced together wholly, tumbles past Mingi’s lips, and Wooyoung is done for.

It’s the voice of the little boy who is no longer little. Who has grown so much over the most tumultuous and arduous years. Deep, like the distant rumbling of thunder. The voice that Wooyoung has longed so much to hear again in its entirety.

Different, yes, as puberty has definitely made its rounds. But it’s Mingi’s all the same.

Those three words hold the entire weight of the world to Wooyoung. He kisses Mingi harder, willing away tears, savoring every flick of Mingi’s tongue, every wave of his lips, the minty freshness of toothpaste and the scent of _home._

Mingi rolls on top of him, pulling away briefly to gaze down at his best friend in what looks to be sheer adoration, smiling as the moonlight illuminated his towering body, a pillar belonging to the heavens, angelic and _free._ Wooyoung is in awe at how much Mingi has grown, both physically and internally, as an image of the two of them flashes before his eyes.

 _“Aha! See, I’m stronger than you! I win!”_ Mingi had cheered after successfully managing to pin Wooyoung under his weight.

_“You’ll see, one day I’ll get back at you! I’ll get stronger and beat you next time!”_

They were seven years old then, a year and some months before Mingi’s voice abandoned him.

Except this time around, Wooyoung concedes.

He runs his fingers along the insides of Mingi’s thighs as Mingi wraps his hand around both of their lengths and tugs, a soft moan falling from his lips. Wooyoung bucks his hips up on instinct, the slickness of precum making the slide through Mingi’s fingers effortless.

“Wooyoung.” Once again, Mingi’s voice is full. He says Wooyoung’s name with such conviction, and so much love.

“Mingi…”

“Want you… w-wanna see you…” Mingi trails off as another moan renders him speechless. Eyelids heavy, he thrusts loosely into his hand, the friction of his cock against Wooyoung’s sending sparks of pleasure down Wooyoung’s spine. He throws his head back into the plushness of the pillows, hands limp and open by the sides of his head.

Mingi’s weight suddenly shifts as he leans forward, intertwining their fingers and reconnecting their lips. Rutting against Wooyoung, he whimpers into Wooyoung’s mouth as a warm wetness starts to pool on Wooyoung’s belly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mingi grunts into Wooyoung’s mouth.

“Oh, _Mingi_ ,” Wooyoung moans as one of Mingi’s hands disappears between the two of them, his cum slicking up Wooyoung’s cock as he jerks it, warm, wet, and pulsing.

Wooyoung’s orgasm blindsides him, eyes rolling back as Mingi expertly finishes him off, grip tightening at the head and squeezing every last bit of cum out of him, adding to the disgusting mess accumulating on his stomach.

They stay just like that, panting in sync until Mingi is the one to suggest a shower together. Wooyoung agrees easily, and the cum streaked across their stomachs are washed away under the steamy stream of water.

All the while, Wooyoung can’t stop thinking about the Mingi he knew as a child. As Mingi scrubs himself clean, Wooyoung watches and wonders just when Mingi got so big.

Though he was never small.

Mingi was never small despite how hard he tried to make himself so. He has always been a silent star, hovering over Wooyoung’s head, shining by his side, watching as he grew.

The biggest, brightest star in Wooyoung’s world.

_Thank you for being by my side, my star, my guide, my light._

_I love you. And I will continue to as long as time allows it._

Mingi turns around and smiles, eyes disappearing beneath the lids, and kisses him.

☼

Wooyoung is wrapped in Mingi’s arms when his phone buzzes, long forgotten on the nightstand. Mingi barely shifts as he shimmies his way from beneath his heavy frame, throwing a blanket over his naked body when the cool nip of conditioned air makes goosebumps rise over his heated flesh. It’s difficult to tell how cold the world is when he’s engulfed so wholly in a man who burns hotter and brighter than any sun. Wooyoung thinks he could very well be stranded in the Arctic, but so long as he has Mingi to keep him warm, the cold can never touch him. 

The screen of his phone is cool to the touch, flashing with unread notifications. A missed call from his mother, unread emails about the upcoming school year, and a new text from Yeosang. 

Wooyoung swipes to open the message, body beginning to shiver, but not from the chilly air. 

**[Yeosang]**

_Hey, are you free tonight?_

It’s five simple words that pluck a memory from that special place in Wooyoung’s mind, a safe where he keeps every moment of this summer so he never forgets. The good, the bad, the infuriating, and the heartbreak, all stored in a vault nestled into his very soul. And Yeosang yanks it open with one short text, deep voice ringing in Wooyoung’s ears despite him and Mingi being the only two in the room. 

His voice is low as it moans, muffling the sound against a hand. Then, it’s loud and clear, unabashed as Wooyoung pulls wanton whines from him with every stroke of his hand, every flick of his tongue. And when he speaks, vocal cords raw with use, Wooyoung feels the ghost of his words against his lips. 

_“I want it. So_ badly. _”_

_“Don’t make me wait too long.”_ That’s what Wooyoung had said. It’s been weeks since then, and the encounter has never left his mind for more than a moment. But was it different for Yeosang? Is that why he’s waited so long? Why he turned to Yunho? 

**[Wooyoung]**

_yea! whats up?_

**[Yeosang]**

_My parents are out for the night and I just wanted to know if you wanted to keep me company_

Wooyoung's breath catches in his throat. 

_Keep me company._

It could mean a number of things. They could binge on pizza and watch movies. They could take a walk on the beach. They could simply fall asleep to the sound of ocean waves and each other’s breathing. 

Or it could mean something else entirely. Wooyoung much prefers the possibility of the last option. 

**[Wooyoung]**

_sounds good ;)_

_7 sound ok?_

**[Yeosang]**

_Yeah, 7 is good_

_See you then :)_

Wooyoung tosses his phone somewhere on his abandoned bed, the one he hasn’t slept in since the night that everything changed between him and Mingi; it’s been a few days, but everything still feels new and exciting, the feeling of wonder never fading for a moment. But now he grasps Mingi’s shoulder, shaking him in a manner that borders violence. All he gets in response is a weak arm thrown in his general direction and a quiet groan of exasperation. 

“Mingi, wake up,” Wooyoung whisper-yells, although he hasn’t the slightest idea why when he and Mingi are the only two in the room. 

“What?” Mingi’s sleep-addled voice is somehow even deeper than his normal rumbly tone, and it makes Wooyoung’s belly burn with white-hot desire. 

“Yeosang texted me,” he says, flopping over onto Mingi’s bare back, tracing the red trails his fingers had dug into the flesh of his shoulder only hours before.

“Okay?”

“He asked me to come over. Tonight.” 

Mingi’s interest is piqued _finally,_ and he turns onto his back to hold Wooyoung against his chest.

He hums, the vibrations tickling Wooyoung’s cheek as he lays his head atop his heart, counting the beats to keep himself calm, grounded. 

“D—you want to go?” Wooyoung smiles when Mingi manages to get the sentence out almost completely, pressing a soft kiss into the dip of his chest before leaning up to peck his sleep-swollen lips.

“Yeah, I do.” Wooyoung whispers. Mingi lets out a low laugh, running a hand down the column of Wooyoung’s spine. 

“What?” Wooyoung asks, voice high and whiny. 

“Nothing,” Mingi insists, turning his face away when his toothy grin nearly escapes his control, lighting up his tired face. Wooyoung feels so _warm_ just looking at him.

“Oh come on, just tell me,” he pleads, poking Mingi’s belly and ribs, albeit none too gently. 

“Just—use protection.”

“Oh my _god_ —”

Mingi’s laughs are loud and boisterous, more fitting for his tall frame and zealous energy than his quiet, huffed chuckles ever were. Wooyoung can’t help but join him, the harmony of their voices so melodic that it’s as if they were made to exist together. 

“When?” Mingi asks, voice laced with mirth.

“Tonight, around seven.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispers against Mingi’s skin. It’s spoken aloud, but it’s not really for Mingi. Wooyoung is the one who needs to hear the words, the constant reassurance that _it’s okay._

It’s okay to want, to yearn so desperately to be pressed against another, to just feel them and bask in their existence. It’s okay to fall into them, to let them see the worst parts of you and accept that, in their eyes, you are perfect. It’s okay to want to be wanted, to see another’s eyes turn dark with need when they lay eyes on you. 

_Keep me company._

And it’s okay to not be wanted. To be a friend to those who need it most and nothing more. A pillar to those who stand swaying in a gusty wind, foundations cracking from years of neglect.

It’s okay if Yeosang wants Wooyoung, and it will be okay if he doesn’t. 

Because at the end of the day, they exist in this world together. Wooyoung gets to have Yeosang with him, even if it is only for a brief moment in the eternity of his life. 

And that, to Wooyoung, is more than okay.

☼

Dainty lace and blushing silk against creamy skin. 

Eyelids painted the prettiest champagne, so subtle that the golden sheen seems as though it originates from beneath Wooyoung’s skin.

Lips glossy, the loveliest peachy shade, so clear that the birthmark on his lip seems to glow under the fluorescent lights. 

There’s a knock on the door, and Mingi pushes the door open, stopping in his tracks when he sees Wooyoung. 

“Wow…” 

“Is it too much? Am I being too presumptuous?” 

Mingi shakes his head so fast Wooyoung becomes dizzy from the motion, turning and thundering to their room to grab his whiteboard. When he returns, there’s a hastily scribbled message on the clean, white surface.

 _‘i think you're the right amount of sumptuous’_ and written in the corner in barely-legible chicken scratch is a simple _‘you look amazing.’_

Wooyoung giggles, throwing on his clothes and shouldering his bag, much to Mingi’s dismay. 

_‘ready?’_

“Not at all.”

_‘PERFECT let’s go’_

☼

Yeosang’s palms are sweating. So much so that he has to wash his hands _twice_ in five minutes as he sits on the couch and waits, the clock ticking at a snail’s pace, counting down the seconds until 7 o’clock. 

There’s take-out sitting on the counter because at the last moment Yeosang realized he didn’t have a single edible thing in his fridge, and true to their habits, his parents had left a considerable amount of cash for Yeosang to feed himself for however long they were gone. It was odd, ordering for two when, for his whole life, he’s been ordering for one. One burger, one drink, one ice cream cone; there was never anyone to share it with. But since meeting these men—these wonderful, kind, mind-blowing men—Yeosang has hardly spent a meal alone. He’s hardly ever had to worry about ordering for himself because it’s usually Yunho on the phone placing their orders, and when the food comes, they all dig in _together_. 

It’s another first for him in a summer full of firsts. First kiss, first time, first time ordering for two… first friends. 

It is most definitely an odd feeling, but it isn’t entirely unpleasant. Portions for two. Yeosang and his friend. Yeosang and _Wooyoung._

Wooyoung, who agreed to come over in a heartbeat, not even questioning why he didn’t message the others. Wooyoung, who’d called him beautiful even though Yeosang thinks that even Aphrodite couldn’t hold a candle to Wooyoung’s loveliness. Wooyoung, the first person to make him see stars even though he’d been solidly on the ground with his back pressed against cool plastic, music pulsing in the air. 

His Wooyoung.

 _Their_ Wooyoung.

He’d practiced the words he wanted to say into the mirror like a smitten teen, San’s confession hanging over his head, a friendly, persistent ghost. 

_I like you._

_I adore you._

_I want to be yours, if only for a night._

Wooyoung had told him that night, breath sweet with raspberry schnapps, that he wanted Yeosang just as badly as Yeosang wanted him, but he’d been too wary to believe it. It was the alcohol talking, he’d reasoned. Too many pornstar shots, too many emotions running high. San had wandered off and Yeosang just happened to be there.

Yeosang never believed for a moment that Wooyoung spoke the truth. That his words came from his heart. That he dropped to his knees for Yeosang and completely ravished him because he _wanted_ to. 

But that day, on the ocean floor at low tide, San had coaxed away his fears the way the moon coaxed the sea away from it’s shore. Stretched out before him is a land of unknowns; perhaps there’s treasure hidden in the vast expanse of the unexplored, or perhaps there is nothing. 

But Yeosang will be damned if he lets another minute go to waste without finding out. 

It’s certainly out of character for him, but so was making friends, and going out in public with his face bare of concealer, and wearing a t-shirt after _years._

And all of those things had felt so _good,_ a breath of fresh air in a world where he’d felt suffocated.

So Yeosang prays to whatever god is listening that confessing to Wooyoung will bring a similar relief, a weight lifted from his shoulders, a sweet breath of air. 

The doorbell rings at 7:01, and it isn’t his proudest moment, the way he bolts to the door in an instant. Wooyoung stands smiling on the other side, cheeks shimmering with pearlescent dust and lips so glossy that Yeosang wants to forgo any and all confessions to kiss him right where he stands. 

Mingi waves enthusiastically as he drives away, hanging out of the window and barely glancing at the road as the car rolls down the street and out of sight. 

“Something smells good,” Wooyoung says as he toes off his shoes, throwing a glance at Yeosang over his shoulder as he makes a beeline for the kitchen. 

He looks _incredible,_ jeans hugging his thighs just right and the neckline of his shirt hanging low enough that Yeosang can appreciate the lines of his chest. He feels like a complete potato in comparison, dressed in the only clothes that were clean after a week of not doing laundry. 

“Are the two of us even going to be able to finish all of this?” Wooyoung asks, taking in the mass of take-out containers laid out on the table. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Yeosang chuckles. “But, um, before we eat…” He trails off, fidgeting with his fingers and looking anywhere but Wooyoung. He’s sure that if he does, he’ll lose any ability to form a coherent sentence, and the words he practiced will be lost, spoken only to his sorry reflection in the still air of his room. 

“What is it?”

“I just—ahem—I kind of wanted to, um, talk?” Still he avoids Wooyoung’s eyes as he sits on the couch, grasping a cushion when he feels the dip of Wooyoung’s weight beside him. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung starts slowly. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk about the club.” It comes out in a whoosh of breath that does nothing to alleviate the weight on his chest. The heavier words are yet to be spoken, lingering in Yeosang’s mind, yearning to be freed.

“What about the club?” Wooyoung asks. From where his gaze is downturned, Yeosang can see Wooyoung pick nervously at the rip in his jeans.

“The, um, the bathroom? And what you said after.”

“What I said after I sucked you off?”

Yeosang sputters, choking on air. Tears prickle in his eyes as coughs wrack his frame, but through all the noise in his chest and head, he hears a symphony of giggles. High-pitched and tinkling, like bells in a summer breeze.

“Are you alright?” Wooyoung rubs Yeosang’s back in slow circles, hiding his smile with a hand even though slivers of his laughter slip through. 

“I’m fine, I just wasn’t expecting, well, _that,_ ” he admits, throat raw. Wooyoung gets up without a word, returning with a glass of cool water and allowing Yeosang to take his time. He thinks that perhaps he saw Wooyoung’s fingers trembling when he handed him the glass.

 _I must be seeing things._

“So you wanna talk about the time I gave you a blowjob?”

“Wooyoung!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” There are the giggles again, melodic and addictive. Yeosang wants to capture them, keep them in a jar.

“I wanted to talk about what you said after. What we _both_ said…”

“Which was?” Wooyoung’s tone suggests that he already knows the answer, but he asks Yeosang anyway.

“That we should do it again.” 

“And do you? Want to do it again?”

Yeosang can feel his throat go dry again, the soothing effect of the water gone too quickly. Wooyoung asked the question, plain and simple. There are two options. And Yeosang knows which one he wants to choose. He’s known it since the moment he met Wooyoung under a blanket of stars and the flickering shadows of fire. 

“I want it more than anything.”

A hand cups his chin, coaxing him to look up and abandon the holes he’s burning into the floor with his gaze. 

Wooyoung locks his galaxy eyes on him, an infinite number of nebulae swirling deep within. 

“Say it again.” 

“I want you more than anything.” 

Yeosang sees it only for an instant: the way Wooyoung’s brows jump in surprise, the silvery pools of stardust gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

_I want you more than anything._

_I want_ you. 

Wooyoung had noticed.

There’s a supernova, an explosion of pure energy when Wooyoung leans forward and kisses him breathless. It’s frenzied, desperate, weeks of lust and yearning condensed into one earth-shattering kiss.

Yeosang’s head spins when Wooyoung pulls away, barely registering that he’s been pushed onto his back until Wooyoung straddles his hips.

“Off,” Wooyoung begs, tugging the hem of his shirt. Yeosang obliges, completely lost in the phenomenon that is Wooyoung. His shirt comes off, and Wooyoung captures his lips once more, hands exploring every inch of skin that he didn’t get to appreciate that night in the club. 

Yeosang allows his hands to wander as well, finally holding Wooyoung in the way he’s been craving for weeks. The hard muscle of this thighs, the rounded shape of his ass, his curve of his spine as his back arches in an attempt to press himself even closer to Yeosang. 

“God, Yeosang, why did you make me wait so long?” 

“I don’t know,” he breathes. And it’s the truth. If he’d known that confessing to Wooyoung would result in _this,_ he would’ve said something ages ago. But to some degree he’s glad he waited, and that his first time was with Yunho. It was easy, comfortable even. 

In any case, it saved Yeosang from morphing into a bumbling idiot the moment Wooyoung pressed his lips against his. His body knows what to do, where to grasp with all his strength and where to brush his fingers with the lightness of a feather. 

“Fuck, Yeosang,” Wooyoung pants, rolling his hips down when Yeosang grabs his ass, kneading the soft flesh.

Wooyoung fingers fly, undoing the strings of Yeosang’s waistband before he can comprehend it.

“W-wait,” Yeosang gasps, laying his hands atop Wooyoung’s. His fingers still beneath Yeosang’s warm palms as he looks up, watching, waiting. 

“What’s wrong?”

“God—nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.” Yeosang leans forward to press a slow kiss onto Wooyoung’s glossy lips. He tastes like peaches, Yeosang realizes. Peaches and mint.

“Then why do you want to stop?” Wooyoung asks, sitting back on his heels.

“I don’t want to stop,” Yeosang says hastily, sitting up to face Wooyoung. 

He already looks _ruined._ The gloss is smeared beyond salvaging, lips swollen from their kisses. Wooyoung looks at him through hooded eyes, desire burning low in deep amber irises. 

“I don’t want to stop. I just—I want to take it slow.”

“Slow?” 

“So slow it feels like time has stopped.”

“But… why?” Wooyoung tilts his head, confused. “I thought you wanted to have sex. To finish what we started in the club?”

“God, is that what you think I want from you?” Yeosang asks. 

He’s still reeling, but now for an entirely different reason than what the high from kissing Wooyoung brings.

“Isn’t it?”

“No, Wooyoung. Not by a long shot.”

“Then what—”

“I want you. I want you in the way San has had you. And Yunho, and probably Mingi too. I want to show you how much you mean to me, to show you how beautiful you are with everything but my words. You deserve to be treated like the most precious thing on this earth, because to me, that’s what you are. You are _precious_ to me, Wooyoung! I would never treat you as a means to an end, especially not like this.” 

Yeosang sighs, his own tears welling. How Wooyoung could ever think that Yeosang would use him like that, he’ll never know. 

“I’m precious… to you?” Wooyoung’s eyes are wide, processing Yeosang’s outburst. His eyes are crystalline, still swirling with pools of stardust. 

“You are. Since the moment I met you, I just knew. From that first night at the bonfire, you’ve never left my mind. I thought it was a stupid crush but… as time went on I realized it was more than that.” Yeosang has to look away then, unable to meet Wooyoung’s pleading gaze. “It’s something I’ve never felt before, something that I’ve only read about on books and seen on TV.”

“Oh, Yeosang,” Wooyoung breathes, fingers tangling with his. 

“That’s why I want to take it slow. I want to take my time with you, use up every minute that this summer gives us. Because I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone else who makes me feel this way in my lifetime. But I’m okay with that, because it’s a privilege to get to feel it at all, and it’s a privilege that I get to feel it with you.”

There’s a pregnant pause, the only sound in the room Yeosang’s heavy breaths and Wooyoung’s stuttered ones. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” Wooyoung’s voice is small when he speaks, breaking the silence. Yeosang looks up to see a stray tear fall from his eyes, the flaming tail of a comet streaking his face in low lamplight. 

Yeosang leads them up, hands still tangled together. Wooyoung stops only for a moment, swiping his bag from the front door before following Yeosang up the stairs.

“Get on the bed,” Wooyoung says, shutting the door behind them. His room is dim, the only light coming from a bedside lamp and the slivers of moonlight peeking through his curtain. Yeosang listens, crawling onto his bed and sitting in the middle.

“Close your eyes.” 

Yeosang does. There’s the sound of a button coming undone, a zipper pulled loose. A pile of clothes hits the floor with a muted _thump_ , and then Wooyoung sighs. It sounds like a calming breath, deep and slow. 

“Open.”

Yeosang never thought Wooyoung could look more beautiful, but he’s proven wrong the moment his eyes fly open. 

Wooyoung is a vision painted in silver moonbeams and starlight, dressed in soft silk that hangs from his body like a cascade of rosy petals. Delicate lace trim lines the sleeves of the beautiful, dainty robe, and on his legs are thigh high stockings, hugging his body _wonderfully._

“Holy shit.”

“Do you like?” Wooyoung asks, climbing on to the bed. The robe falls away for a moment and Yeosang’s mouth goes dry as he glimpses the pretty white lace hidden underneath. 

“Fuck, Wooyoung. I love it.” Yeosang says, sliding his arms around Wooyoung’s waist as he crawls onto Yeosang’s lap. “You’re amazing.”

“For the record, you’re precious to me, too,” Wooyoung admits, leaning down to kiss Yeosang gently. “I don’t know why I just _assumed_ that you wouldn’t feel the same way. You’re so wonderful, Yeosang. You deserve so much more than me.”

“You’re exactly what I deserve, because you’re exactly what I want, Wooyoung.”

Never once his life did Yeosang allow himself to truly _want_ something. He’d never wished or hoped because life was too cruel to give him what he yearned for. But this summer, it’s as though the universe had heard every secret thought, every deep desire and granted it. No strings attached. 

For once in his life, Yeosang was allowed to be _happy._

“Let me show you how much I want you, Wooyoung. Please.” The words are spoken right onto Wooyoung’s skin.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Yeosang kisses Wooyoung first this time, pouring out his soul and laying himself bare. His hands wander up the milky pink silk, reaching up to cup Wooyoung’s face. It’s slow, unhurried. Perfect.

No presumptions, no rushing, no one to bear witness.

No one but them.

When he pushes Wooyoung gently onto his back, he takes a moment to just look. To admire and appreciate. Because no matter what Wooyoung says about him, and no matter how much he tells Yeosang he is beautiful, there is no other sight in the world like Wooyoung.

There is no shade in the morning sky that can match the radiance of his skin, the way he seems to glow from within. There is no instrument in the world that could ever compare to his stuttered gasps and low moans; music made for a single listener who soaks in each sound with greed because _god_ , there is no sweeter symphony.

There are no number of stars in the sky that could compare to the constellations clustered in Wooyoung’s eyes. That night before the club, Yeosang had painted a galaxy on his eyelids, a work of art by his own hand. But the truth is, that very same galaxy lived within Wooyoung, swirling and changing, ever-glowing and ever-expanding. Yeosang had merely plucked each starry orb from the swirling mass he sees inside Wooyoung and brushed them onto his face, knowing that his amatuer rendering could never hold a flame to the universe that exists within him.

The sash holding the robe falls away with a gentle tug, allowing the glossy material to fan out, pooling in swathes of glimmering pink. The white lace that Yeosang had glimpsed earlier comes into full view and he can’t stop himself from reaching out and touching it, running his fingers over the intricate designs and brushing over Wooyoung’s trembling flesh. 

He’s wearing a bralette, sheer and dainty, Wooyoung’s taut nipples stark against the delicate white flowers adorning the thin fabric. The underwear matches, blooming roses and vines shifting with each jump of his hips, each twitch of his hard cock. His knee-highs are the same pure white, smooth against his skin when Wooyoung wraps his legs around his waist.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” Wooyoung giggles, reaching for Yeosang’s hands.

Their fingers weave together, natural and instinctive.

“I can’t help it. You’re _gorgeous,_ ” Yeosang breathes out in awe. Wooyoung flushes, smile widening as he brings Yeosang’s hands to his mouth, pressing butterfly kisses along his knuckles. 

“Thank you,” Wooyoung whispers. He doesn’t deny it or try to divert his words. He doesn’t scoff and look away or try to deny his beauty. He accepts it. He _believes_ it. And it makes Yeosang’s heart sing.

“Is this okay?” Yeosang asks, though he knows what Wooyoung’s answer will be. His fingers are back at Wooyoung’s hips, fingers toying with the lace, inching it down ever so slowly.

“It’s more than okay.”

Wooyoung sighs in relief when Yeosang pulls the thin fabric down just enough for his shaft to slip out, bouncing up against his stomach, tip already gleaming with precum. He grips the length of him with a steady hand, stroking him gently, firmly.

Wooyoung gasps and writhes every time Yeosang twists his hand around his swollen head, so he does it over and over until Wooyoung is sweating under him, moaning his name like a broken record that Yeosang could listen to forever.

“ _God_ , Yeosang,” he whimpers. “You make me feel so good.”

Yeosang only hums, the pace of his hand quickening and slowing mindlessly as he takes in the sight of Wooyoung, so wanton and lovely, all because of _him._

“I want to make you feel even better.”

It takes a moment to maneuver himself between Wooyoung’s legs, moving them so they rest on his shoulders after he pulls off the pretty white panties and tosses them across the bed. Wooyoung’s cock jumps when his breath ghosts over it, warm over heated flesh. Yeosang presses his lips against the shaft, kissing his way up to the tip and suckling on it softly. It isn’t difficult to take him down further as he bobs his head, the length and girth of him comfortable in comparison to Yunho’s size. And with each stroke of his tongue and hollowing of his cheeks, Wooyoung pants in pleasure, still singing that song of Yeosang’s name in broken notes. 

“Oh my _god_ , Yeosang I’m gonna cum,” Wooyoung chokes out, a hand coming down to tangle in Yeosang’s long hair. It just rests there, twisted in gilded strands, neither pushing him away or pulling him closer. Yeosang makes the decision for him, pulling away with a wet sound, already missing the musky taste of Wooyoung in his mouth.

He crawls up Wooyoung’s body, pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses against his skin as he goes. Wooyoung is waiting for him when he reaches his destination, the fingers in his hair tightening as he’s brought down for a sweet kiss.

“Want you inside me, Yeosang,” Wooyoung whispers against his lips.

“Anything for you,” he whispers back, cock twitching at the thought of being wrapped in Wooyoung’s warm, wet heat. He’d been on the receiving end when he was with Yunho, so this is uncharted territory. Something entirely new and unfamiliar. But Yeosang isn’t scared or apprehensive. There’s no need to be, not when it’s Wooyoung.

It seems Wooyoung came fully prepared, pulling a bottle of lube and a condom from his bag. Yeosang uncaps the bottle and drizzles the gooey liquid over his fingers until they’re slippery and dripping. He remembers how Yunho did it for him, slow and gentle, taking his time. He wants to do the same for Wooyoung.

He wants to take his time, appreciate every inch of him, every nook and cranny and hidden corner that Wooyoung has to offer. 

“Ready?” Yeosang asks, though it’s really more for him than Wooyoung. 

The absolute vision under him nods, drawing his legs up to his chest and baring himself for Yeosang. The first finger slides in easily enough, Wooyoung not showing a hint of discomfort. Instead he smiles, sighing when Yeosang reaches the last knuckle. 

Wooyoung only winces when he reaches the third digit, hole stretching obscenely as lube squelches between the ring of muscle and his fingers. It doesn’t last long though, his pants of effort devolving quickly into gasps for more, for _Yeosang._

“F-fuck, want you _now_ Yeosang.” Wooyoung moans. And who is Yeosang to deny him?

“I want you too, Wooyoung. So fucking bad.”  
He reaches for the condom, rolling it on and moving to line himself up with Wooyoung’s entrance. A hand against his shoulder stops him.

“Wait,” Wooyoung says, voice low. “I want you on your back.”

“My back? Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

Yeosang falls back against his pillows with a muted _oomph_ , hands coming up to grip Wooyoung’s waist as he seats himself on his lap.

“You look so beautiful like this, under me,” Wooyoung coos, brushing his blonde hair away from forehead.

“Thank you.” Wooyoung’s galaxy eyes light up, flashing brilliantly as he beams, leaning down to kiss Yeosang’s breath away.

He feels Wooyoung’s torso shift, a hand reaching back to grip Yeosang’s cock and line himself up. And Yeosang just keeps kissing him, opening his mouth and allowing their tongues to tangle as he loses himself in everything that is Wooyoung. His senses are overwhelmed with him, but he basks in it, loving every moment that the world falls away leaving nothing but _Wooyoung Wooyoung Wooyoung._

The moment the head of his cock pushes past Wooyoung’s rim, Yeosang can already feel the coil of his orgasm begin to wind up in his belly. Wooyoung is hot and tight, working himself down on Yeosang’s cock with aborted thrusts, getting used to the size of him. Yeosang lets him, bones turning to jelly as he’s engulfed by Wooyoung, his walls undulating like the ocean waves, pulling him into deeper depths.

Wooyoung bottoms out with a low moan, pressing his face into Yeosang’s neck as he adjusts. Yeosang stays as still as he can, partly because he doesn’t want to hurt Wooyoung, but also because he feels that if he moves, he most definitely will cum and bestow Wooyoung with the possibly the most sexually frustrating experience possible. 

So he lays still and waits, hands running up and down Wooyoung’s back, over his trembling legs, through his hair, all the while tamping down his orgasm because _fuck_ Wooyoung feels heavenly.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks, turning his head to press a kiss to Wooyoung’s cheek.

“I’m fucking fantastic,” Wooyoung answers, finally raising his head and sitting up straight. Yeosang’s cock shifts inside him with the motion, the walls of muscle tightening like a vice. 

“Does it feel good?” Wooyoung asks, cheeky. He rolls his hips in slow circles, and Yeosang can’t stop the groan that slips from between his lips. His orgasm is already creeping up again, the coil becoming tight and white-hot.

“Fucking fantastic,” he parrots, giving a shallow, experimental thrust into Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung hisses, hands grappling for purchase on Yeosang’s chest but coming up short. Yeosang does it again and again, Wooyoung making a symphony of sweet sounds each time he draws himself out and is practically sucked back into Wooyoung’s greedy hole. The lube squelches lewdly with each thrust, the only other sound in the room save for their shaky moans and gasps. 

“Faster, Yeosang,” Wooyoung whines, swirling his hips as Yeosang bottoms out. Sweat is beading on his forehead and dripping down his temples, but he listens, gripping Wooyoung’s waist and lifting him as he pulls out, slamming home with a sharp thrust.

Wooyoung cries out as Yeosang fucks him, his high-pitched moans quickly turning to low sobs as Yeosang hits that spot over and over. He hadn’t known a spot like that existed in bodies until Yunho had discovered it for him, and now he’s discovered it in Wooyoung. A secret space, deep within him, the center of his soul welcoming Yeosang in and sharing his pleasure in stuttered moans, starlit tears, and ever-tightening velvet walls.

“Gonna cum,” Wooyoung gasps, breathless. “Fuck Yeosang, you’re gonna make me cum.”

It only eggs him on, the mounting warning of his own orgasm pushed aside in favor of finding Wooyoung a release that will make him see the very stars that whirl inside him. Their lips are close, but they’re not quite kissing, merely brushing against each other as Wooyoung’s body is jolted time and time again by Yeosang’s powerful thrusts. Each sweet moan and breathy sigh falls right into Yeosang’s mouth, and he swallows them whole. Anything Wooyoung gives him, he takes it and tucks it away, burning it into his memories. 

Wooyoung cums with a silent scream, head thrown back, exposing the long column of his neck. His stomach tightens, the muscles there jumping in time with his cock as it spurts pearly cum onto Yeosang’s torso. It gathers in iridescent pools in the dips of Yeosang’s belly, viscous and warm.

He doesn’t last much longer, Wooyoung’s body sucking him in deep and convulsing around him, all but yanking his orgasm from his body. Each contraction of his muscles around Yeosang’s twitching cock is a shockwave of immeasurable magnitude. It shakes him to his core, leaving him reeling and grasping for something, _anything._ And what he finally takes hold of is the very cause of his soul-shattering high. 

Wooyoung rolls his hips through the entirety of Yeosang’s orgasm, holding his hands and brushing over the knuckles with soft lips. The innocent gesture is a stark contrast to the sin of his hips, devilishly sweet as he looks down at Yeosang with wide, crystalline eyes while his body rocks, milking his cock for all it’s worth. 

And Yeosang loves every second of it. He feels helpless now, Wooyoung taking the lead as he fucks Yeosang through his orgasm. Lying there under him, liquid in his hands, Yeosang feels _free._ His mind is flying, no longer a slave to gravity but to the magnetic force of Wooyoung, pushing and pulling, taking as he gives. 

Stars begin to whirl behind Yeosang’s eyelids, borrowed from Wooyoung’s universe. The constellations they form mimic their creator, capturing the parts Yeosang loves the most and etching them permanently into the cosmos: his sparkling eyes, his smiling lips, his wandering hands, his trembling legs.

“You’re amazing, Yeosang,” Wooyoung breathes, the awe laced in his words apparent. Never before have words sounded so sincere, so jarring, but Yeosang soaks them in, believes them. 

“You are beauty, Wooyoung.” 

Not just beautiful, but beauty itself. Nothing in this world can compare, Yeosang thinks. 

Wooyoung rides him until they both cum again, and Yeosang holds him so tight that he can scarcely tell which heartbeat against his chest is his own. 

“I can’t believe you made me wait so long for this,” Wooyoung whispers into a tired kiss after they clean up. 

“I can’t believe I waited that long either,” Yeosang says truthfully. He’d been missing out on so much, but now he has it. He has Wooyoung, and that fact alone makes every regret melt away, forgotten in an instant. 

“Why?” Wooyoung asks, tracing a finger down Yeosang’s bare chest.

“Why what?”

“Why did it take you so long?” Wooyoung repeats the question he asked less than an hour ago, and this time it gives Yeosang pause. He’d answered before that he didn’t know, and that was true, but deep down Yeosang knows there was more to it than that. The whole truth was that he was _scared,_ but his fears seem so silly now. Most things do in hindsight. 

“I thought you wouldn’t want me, or that you wouldn’t need me. You with the others… you just seemed to fit. And I was never going to compare, not next to them.”

Wooyoung props his chin against Yeosang’s sternum, eyes twinkling from beneath long lashes. He doesn’t look mad or disappointed by Yeosang’s self-deprecating reasoning. Instead he smiles softly, reaching up to run his thumb across Yeosang’s kiss-bitten lips.

“But you know now, don’t you? You know how much I want you? How much I need you?”

Yeosang smiles against the soft pad of his finger as it swipes his bottom lip. Twinkling, galaxy eyes look up at him expectantly. 

There was a time when Yeosang believed that he needed no one and no one needed him. It was him against the world, armed with his dark pencils and a crumbling perseverance. That man—no, that _boy_ would have never believed it, that he could be wanted and needed. He was broken and battered, pieces of himself scattered so far it seemed impossible to put him back together.

But here he was, slowly being repaired, piece by agonizing piece. Four sets of hands putting him back together. It isn’t just him against the world anymore. His tin of dark pencils are replaced by endless color and his arms are wrapped around the embodiment of beauty. 

He looks down into those mesmerizing eyes, hoping that Wooyoung can see what he wants to answer but can’t quite say. Not yet, but maybe one day.

_Yes. I know now._

☼

It takes an entire day of ruminating for San to finally make the call.

Part of him is angry. They’d staged this whole “vacation” for him, sent him away, and didn’t leave any messages thus far. But in all honesty, San doesn’t blame them. Perhaps they thought that this was their chance to finally catch a break from their deadbeat son and let him roam on his own. He’d been doing that all throughout high school, so this wasn’t any different… right?

The weight of his phone is a million times heavier as he finally presses the button.

A voice picks up after one ring.

“Sannie, hello sweetheart.”

His mother’s voice has always been comforting. Never once has San heard her yell, though he can imagine how much she’s wanted to.

“H-hi, mom,” San says, jittery.

“How is it over there? Sunny and bright? Hot?”

“Yeah, all of the above.” He chuckles. “It’s, ah… definitely different. I’m having a good time, though.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart,” his mother says, voice flooding with earnesty. “How are you feeling?”

An odd question, San thinks. “I’m… I’m good,” he says.

“That’s good.”

San bites the inside of his bottom lip, an uneasy knot tightening in his chest. It’s been over a month since he’s last talked to them, and longer since he’s had full-length conversations with them. When he left home, it was with heavy footfalls and a begrudging scowl, feeling as if his parents were forcefully sending him off to a religious boarding school.

“It’s just a chance for you to clear your mind,” is what his father told him before he left.

San hadn’t put up much of a fight. His parents had already paid for his hotel, already transferred more than enough funds to his bank account, all for a trip that would “clear his mind.” He wasn’t about to argue with them. He didn’t want to give them more reasons to be disappointed.

Except the trip ended up being more than he bargained for. Not that he’s complaining.

After all, the trip brought him four beautiful stars.

“Mom. I… I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause before his mother responds, “Why are you saying sorry?”

San swallows. “I know… I know I haven’t exactly been the best son. I know that I’ve said and done some really bad things and I made you and dad worry about me and I know that I’ve disappointed you—“

“Sannie, please.”

San stops dead in his tracks.

“Why do you think that we’re disappointed in you?” she asks in genuine disbelief.

“I’ve done nothing to be proud of,” San says. The knot is growing almost unbearably taut. There are tears welling in his eyes. He’s always hated the feeling of them. “All I’ve done is smoke and drink and party and…”

“San. Please, listen to me.” Another pause as San braces for impact. She sighs. “You must be wondering why we haven’t called you this whole time. You see, Sannie, we know how independent you are. You’ve always kept to yourself, always deep within your own mind, doing everything on your own. It was… difficult to see you so troubled, yes. But at no point were we disappointed in you, my love. This time was no different. We wanted you to be on your own, not because we were angry with you, or because we didn’t want you around. We wanted you to be in a place you haven’t experienced yet because we imagined how suffocating it must be surrounded by the same people, the same sights, the same… well, everything. We wanted you to be on your own with no interruptions, in a place that wouldn’t remind you of the bad things you've been through.”

San sniffles, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes it’ll dry the tears.

It doesn’t.

“We trust you wholeheartedly to make your own decisions. And if I’m being quite honest… perhaps we should’ve been there. We should’ve done more for you when you were so troubled—“

“No!” San resists suddenly. “N-no, mom, I put myself in those situations. Everything I did, it was all me. It wasn’t because you and dad weren’t doing enough. I was the one pushing everybody away.”

His mother chuckles a little, an elegant sound. Like soothing ocean waves.

“Well, it’s in the past now, right?”

“R-right.” The knot loosens ever so slightly.

“Sweetheart, we know that it was difficult for you. But you are stronger than you think. You learned honor and respect and dignity. Those are things that nobody could ever take away from you, no matter what. Your father… he taught you well.”

San cracks the tiniest of smiles.

_And you taught me how to love unconditionally._

He thinks of _them._

“I’m truly sorry we haven’t reached out to you, my love. But I promise you, it’s because we believe in you and your capabilities. That you can make it out of whatever slump you’re stuck in, or the box that you’ve built around yourself.”

“I just wanna make you proud,” San whispers between clenched teeth, tears spilling over. “I’ll go to school, and get a degree and a stable job. I’ll become someone you can be proud to call your son, I promise.”

His mother sighs over the phone, the sound washing over him, comforting. 

“Oh, my love. We’ve always been proud of you. No matter what you choose to do, we always will be. Whether you go to school or not, we want you to be happy. And that will never change because you are ours. Our beautiful boy.”

_Beautiful._

“I love you, mom,” San cries, sniffling hard as the knot in his chest unravels.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” She chuckles. “Your father’s at the studio, but I can tell him you called.”

“P-please.”

“And feel free to call us anytime, okay?”

“Okay.”

Just then, a shadow moves in the low light of his room as Yunho pads down the hall.

“And mom… I just wanna let you know, I’ve actually made some really good friends.”

Mere seconds later, Yunho appears in the doorway, brows creased and curious. San smiles.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Real, genuine friends.”

Yunho smiles back.

“Oh, Sannie, that’s wonderful. I hope that we can meet them someday!”

“Yeah… me too.”

_I want to be able to see them again._

Yunho joins him on the bed after teary goodbyes, wrapping his arms around San’s shoulders from the side in some comfortable yet uncomfortable snuggle-hug hybrid.

“I’m proud of you,” Yunho says.

San chuckles, resting his head on Yunho’s.

“It’s not easy,” the taller says. “To face your fears.”

“Had I been alone all this time, there’s no way I would have.” San lifts his head, and presses a tender kiss onto Yunho’s cheek.

“Trust me, I know.”

San sighs deeply, tears slipping from his eyes and onto Yunho’s shoulder. Literally and figuratively, a shoulder to cry on.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

“For what?”

San inhales deeply, breathing Yunho in. Sea salt and woodsmoke, familiarity, loneliness, generosity, and _love._

“For everything. You’re perfect to us, okay?”

Yunho cracks a smile, and San lets out an internal sigh of relief when he laughs.

“Then you get to be perfect to me, okay?”

San laughs back. He finds himself enjoying the sound of it.

“I wouldn’t want to be perfect to anyone else.”

☼

> _I finally took Wooyoung to the thinking place, the place where we first met Yeosang._
> 
> _And when we came home, he told me he loves me and I said it back._
> 
> _We kissed a lot that night. And nothing has ever felt so right._
> 
> _I don’t know how I spent so much time wrapped in Wooyoung’s arms all these years without kissing him, exploring him. There’s so much more to learn, I’ve found._
> 
> _This summer is almost over, and I’ve realized that I never want to leave his arms. But time won’t slow down no matter how much I want it to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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